


There's No Replacing You

by fourteencandles (thingsbaker)



Category: Entourage
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsbaker/pseuds/fourteencandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You really don’t get it?” Turtle asks.</p><p>“Get what?”</p><p>“The resemblance.”</p><p>Eric frowns. “To what?” He’s thinking of Vince’s last few girls, but there’s no resemblance there.</p><p>“To you,” Turtle says, and now Eric’s really confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008 and originally posted to Livejournal. Thanks to shoshannagold for the beta reading on this one, which was posted twice, under two titles, with two different endings!

Vince and the guys go to New York for New Year’s. Eric’s stuck in L.A. This is the drag part of actually being a fucking management group, now, is that he has a schedule that doesn’t always match perfectly with Vince’s. Vince offers to stay behind, but Eric knows Rita’s looking forward to seeing him and tells him to go. He spends New Year’s Eve at a lame party being thrown by the studio, where, after he makes the introduction and impression that he attended the party specifically to make, he gets a blow-job from a cater-waiter. “By the way,” the guy says, as they’re both straightening up, “I’m Ralph.”

“Eric,” he says.

“Happy New Year, Eric.” They shake hands before they part.

He told the guys he was bi almost six months ago, and it apparently came as a surprise only to Vince. Even his mother, when he called to tell her about Lucas, his now ex-boyfriend, took it all in stride. That was weirder for Eric than the preceding four months had been, where he’d first realized he was attracted to Lucas, the young director of Vince’s last movie, then moved up to doing something about it. They dated for half a year before Lucas broke things off; Lucas is in Italy, now, filming the new Angelina Jolie pic. You can’t get much more space than that.

The guys are cool about it, even now that Eric’s back on the market and has decided to try what Turtle calls “fishing from both ponds.” It’s been strangely liberating: for once, Eric’s just playing the field. He’s an old-fashioned guy, in some ways. Fucking around with girls always felt wrong to him, but for some reason, doing the same thing with a guy feels, well, pretty natural. The nice thing about the guys he’s met is that none of them are looking for a relationship. That works out, because right now, Eric’s too busy to try anything serious, and too stressed out to turn down sex. So for the past month or so, it’s been mostly guys, and he’s having a good time.

Vince calls at midnight, just as Eric’s arriving home. “Happy New Year!”

“Hey, you too,” Eric says. “Isn’t it like the middle of the night where you are?”

“I don’t know, something like,” Vince says. “Where are you?”

“Just left the Dreamworks party.”

“Fuck, all alone?”

“I wasn’t lonely while I was there,” Eric says, putting a twist on the words, and Vince laughs.

“Yeah, you find a — someone?”

He’s trying, which is nice. He really was surprised when Eric sat him down at breakfast and explained that he and Lucas were hooking up. His mouth even dropped open a little. “A someone, yeah,” Eric says. He unlocks his condo and walks in, straight to the fridge. “What about you?”

Vince talks about the party they went to at some new hotel that Eric’s heard of tangentially. He mentions fireworks, an open bar, live music, girls everywhere. A heated rooftop pool. It sounds like exactly Vince’s idea of a good time. “I missed you, though,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I’d say I wish you were here, but it’s a pretty dull night,” Eric says. He opens a beer. “When do you guys get in?”

“Tuesday,” Vince says. “I guess around noon. You gonna be there?”

“I’ll try,” Eric says. “Otherwise, I guess I’ll catch you for dinner.”

“OK.”

There’s a pause while Eric gulps his beer. Vince says, “You’re OK, E, right?”

“Yeah,” Eric says, fast. “Of course, I’m fine. I mean, I’m a little bummed I missed all the fun, but I’m cool.” He sets the beer down. “Are you OK?”

“Uh-huh,” Vince says, and then there’s another pause. This feels different, awkward. Eric’s about to break the silence, say Vince’s name or ask about his mother or something, when Vince says, “I’ve been thinking about some stuff.”

Eric clears his throat. “What kind of stuff?”

“Just — stuff we should maybe talk about,” Vince says. “Like, when we get back, let’s get dinner somewhere, all right? Just us, not the guys.”

“OK,” Eric says. “Uh — business stuff? Or like —”

“Just stuff I want to run by you,” Vince says. “Look, don’t worry. No big deal. I’m not passing on  _Daisies_  or anything. Just — time with my best friend, OK? That’s what I want.”

“All right,” Eric agrees. “Hey, any time. Always time for that.”

“Good. OK.”

They chat easily for a few more minutes — Mom’s fine, the guys are fine, everything’s fine — and then Vince hangs up with a promise to call tomorrow. Eric stands in the kitchen and wonders exactly what Vince might want to talk about. He’s got a major movie coming up —  _Year of the Daisies_  — that it took a little talking to get him into. But they’ve signed a director, now, and the contracts are nearly finalized — to the tune of $12 million for Vince at the end of production. They’re waiting on a re-write, but mostly, that question is supposed to be settled.

Maybe it’s something else. Maybe he wants to finally sit down and talk about the last few months — months where Vince has been a little weird around him, where things have been awkward. Vince never warmed to Lucas as Eric’s boyfriend, even though they got along great on set. When he left, and Eric started his casual dating campaign, Vince still stayed a little distant. Maybe with this phone call, this dinner, maybe that’s all about to be over. Maybe he’s come to his senses at last, Eric thinks. He finishes his beer and goes to bed, hoping that everything’s about to get back to normal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eric has a meeting Tuesday morning that runs long, so he doesn’t see the guys until evening. Turtle and Drama are lounging on Vince’s couch when Eric walks in, but Vince is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s on the phone, talking to his new girl,” Turtle says, and makes a face.

“What, you don’t like her?” Eric asks.

Drama snorts. “He doesn’t like her because she gave him a hard time on the flight.”

“Wait — he’s banging the flight attendant?” Eric takes a seat on the armchair.

“Nah.” Turtle explains the whole thing while never removing his eyes from the television. Vince met the girl, Anita, at a party on New Year’s Day, and they hit it off. She’s from the Bronx but lives in Santa Monica, and she works as an assistant in a boutique agency that reps mostly TV actors. “So he offered her a ride home.”

Eric laughs. “I’ll bet,” he says. “Is she nice?”

Drama shrugs. “She’s a hometown girl,” he says. “You’ll probably like her.”

Vince comes out after a while and they all go to dinner, and nothing seems different or off or bad. When Eric mentions getting together later in the week, Vince nods but says next week might be better.

“You sounded like you really had something to say.”

He shrugs. “I told you, nothing pressing. I just thought it’d be a good way to see you more often. You’ll be around this week, right?”

Eric nods, and Vince grins and squeezes his shoulder. “So, OK. Golf simulator?”

 

Eric doesn’t push, because things actually are better between them. Something about the trip home seems to have evaporated the weirdness; maybe Rita gave Vince an earful. It’s also possible Eric’s own mother took Vince to task, and Eric is very sorry he wasn’t along to see that. The thing is — well, he knows it’s not the bi thing, because Eric has seen that Vince doesn’t have a problem with that. He walked in on Vince and a guy in high school once, and again, with a different guy, a few years ago. They’ve never talked about it — Eric’s not completely sure Vince saw him — but Eric knows Vince is cool about that. So whatever else has been bothering him, maybe he’s over it, Eric thinks, and he’s glad.

Eric is around more than usual that week, actually, because ramping up for filming means that Vince’s schedule is priority one for him. The only weird thing is that Vince is suddenly not available that often — he spends a lot of time out with Anita. It takes a week before Eric actually meets her.

They’re having lunch at The Palm. Eric and Turtle are already there, and Vince and Drama join a few minutes late. “Traffic,” Drama explains as he slides into his seat. Vince signals the waiter, who brings an extra chair.

“I invited Anita,” he says. “I forgot I made plans with her today. Is that OK?”

“Yeah, Jesus,” Eric says. “I was starting to wonder if she was made up.”

She’s very real, it turns out, and very much not what he expected. Usually, Vince’s girls are obvious; Eric figured he’d be able to spot Anita from the moment she walked in. Instead, he’s surprised when a woman drops her hand onto Vince’s shoulder and says, “Where can a girl get a decent pizza around here, huh?” with a thick Bronx accent.

Vince laughs and stands up to kiss her; until that moment, Eric was thinking she was possibly a stalker or a really forward autograph seeker. But no: this is Anita. She’s not Vince’s usual type at all: she’s pretty, yeah, but not stunning; average height, about Eric’s height, actually, and in flat shoes; fit, but not sculpted; and her breasts, well, they’re there, sure, but they’re neither large nor displayed to any advantage in her high-necked blouse. She looks sort of like a girl Eric would go for, in that she looks like the kind of girl who has not just standards but expectations, a girl who has it, but isn’t really flaunting it.

“You must be E,” she says, holding out her hand. She has a firm, respectable grip.

“And you must be Anita,” he says. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“I know,” she says. “Though I sort of feel like I already know you. This guy’s a big fan, I don’t know if you know.” She elbows Vince, who grins and pulls out her chair. When she sits, she’s not so obviously smaller than Vince. “Hello, boys.”

“Yo,” Turtle says, not looking at her.

“Aw, still?” She rifles through her purse. “I got you a present, Turtle.”

Turtle raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She hands across a slip of paper. “Lauren Turetti’s phone number.”

“Wait,” Eric says, “cheerleader Lauren Turetti? Like from high school?”

Anita nods. “She’s out here now doing a little bit of modeling and going to school. Give her a call.”

“Dude, whoa, thank you.”

Eric faces her. “How do you know Lauren?”

She shrugs. “We went to dance camp together one summer. She was way better than I was,” she says, and shrugs again. “Anyway, so, are we square, then?”

Turtle grins. “This’ll do it,” he says.

Anita turns out to be pretty cool. She’s got a good mouth on her — in a way, she reminds Eric of Shauna, in that she’s sharp and sarcastic, but she’s not as mean. She’s also not as industry-jaded as Shauna, and she’s clearly already gaga over Vince.

Vince, it seems, returns the feelings.

“So, you like her?” he asks later, when they’re in the car on the way to Ari’s.

“She seems really cool,” Eric says.

“She’s totally cool.” Vince lays his head back and closes his eyes. “Like, there’s just something about her, you know?”

Eric nods. The weird thing is, as nice as the girl is, Eric doesn’t see what Vince is doing with her. Usually, the girls Vince fucks, Eric totally understands. Physical attraction isn’t a hard thing to get. But this girl — she’s cool, yeah, she’s smart, but nothing at lunch screamed  _bang me_. The vibe he got was different. She just wasn’t Vince material. But if this is what he thinks he wants today, well, Eric can roll with it.

“You ready for this meeting?”

Vince looks over and grins. “I’m ready for anything.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, Vince is still hung up on Anita. Every time Eric calls, Vince is with her. And not just fucking — having lunch, shopping, even golfing. Once, when Eric has to cancel on evening out with the guys because he’s having dinner with his newest client, Josie, and her agent, Vince takes Anita to the Lakers Game.

Weirder than that, the other guys aren’t complaining. Anita is around constantly, and no one seems to care. “I dunno,” Turtle says when Eric mentions it. “She’s just cool. She fits in, I guess.”

Eric starts to wonder if there’s something even bigger going on, here. Is Vince finally settling down? Is this the girl? Eric can’t understand exactly how he’s missed it.

He walks into the house one afternoon, half an hour early to pick Vince up for a meeting with Ari. He goes to the kitchen first to get some water and hears voices from the sunken living room on the other side.

“I’m just thinking, the last scene is a little chaotic,” Anita’s saying. Eric pauses at the fridge, sipping his water. He’s talked to Vince about the final scene before; it was Eric’s only sticking point on the movie, and he’s been pushing Vince to talk to the director about it for a few weeks. The re-write they were waiting on hasn’t happened yet, but Vince’s position has, so far, been to wait and see.

“You think?” Vince says.

“It’s not bad overall,” Anita says. “And, I mean, I don’t know much about this project, OK? But I think — it seems to kind of fall apart, there.”

“Huh.” Vince — the bastard — sounds like he’s really taking this in. Eric’s been saying the same goddamned thing for three months. “You think I should talk to him?”

“If that’s what you think will help,” she says, “then yeah.”

This is territory Eric doesn’t like. He gulps his water, then clears his throat and walks into room. “Hey,” he says.

They’re sitting on the couch, close, the script spread out in front of them. Vince has his hand on Anita’s knee, but other than that, it could be a work meeting. It could be a meeting between Eric and Vince.

Oh, fuck.

 

That night, Eric goes out with the guys and Anita. He watches them closely, watches Vince defer to Anita on everything: the wine they order, the club they go to, the brand of whiskey they shoot while they’re there, the songs that they dance to. Eric takes an extra shot of whiskey, then another when he realizes that Vince and Anita have left without them. He’s so drunk by the time Turtle and Drama come back to the table that when Drama asks, “Where’s Vin?” Eric says, “He’s off trying to fucking replace me.”

It takes the guys the rest of the night — and half a bag of Turtle’s best — to get Eric relaxed enough to sleep. He keeps seeing Anita taking Vince’s hand to lead him onto the floor. How did he never think about this before? Of course, this was always how it was going to go. The other guys are distractions, they’re pals, they’re the guys Vince smokes up with, the guys he plays video games with; his relationship with Eric has always been something different. It’s always relied on the two of them being, well, confidants. Partners. Not in a sexual way — though, OK, fine, whatever, Eric knows Vince is hot, and not just in an intellectual, hey-look-at-that-poster way — but in every other way imaginable, Eric has been Vince’s partner for years.

Now he’s found a girl who can do everything Eric does, plus sex. She’s even in the industry. There’s no way to win. That’s what keeps him up, tossing and turning, in the guest bedroom well past three a.m.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Eric drags his ass out of the guest bed at Vince’s place and through the shower before he ventures out to breakfast. Only Turtle and Drama are around, and they both look at him with such wide, sympathetic eyes that Eric knows he said way too much.

“Can we just forget about last night?” Eric asks. There’s a steady drumbeat behind his eyelids saying please, please, please.

“Sure,” Turtle says, and Drama nods and hands Eric a plate. He claps him on the shoulder as he turns back to the stove, though, and Eric knows this is how it’s going to go. Now he’s some kind of object of pity for the boys. 

He sighs. “Where’s Vince?”

“Uh, he and — he went out,” Drama says, and Eric rolls his eyes.

“He’s with Anita,” he says, and Drama takes a seat and nods, slowly, like this might be a big deal. “Guys, I don’t have a thing for him,” he says, and Turtle looks up.

“Yeah, we know,” he says, nodding fast. It’s a fucking good thing they aren’t relying on Turtle’s acting skills to get them through, because the face he’s making — Eric guesses it’s supposed to be earnest — is instead a painful grimace.

“No, seriously,” Eric says, and Turtle still looks weird. He decides to try honesty. “I’m worried — I’m losing my best friend. One of my best friends,” he amends, tipping his head toward Turtle. “Since Lucas, the guy won’t even fucking talk to me, and now he’s got this girl and — there’s just no room.” He looks across, expecting another weird face from Turtle, but instead sees just plain disbelief. “What?”

“You really don’t get it?” Turtle asks.

“Get what?”

“The resemblance.”

Eric frowns. “To what?” He’s thinking of Vince’s last few girls, but there’s no resemblance there.

“To you,” Turtle says, and now Eric’s really confused. “Oh, come on.”

“E,” Drama says, “what Turtle’s trying to say is, he’s fucking her because she’s you, with a pussy.”

“What?” Eric sits back. “Guys. What the fuck are you talking about, he likes that girl.”

“Uh, no,” Turtle says, “he likes you. But it’s a pretty big fucking step to, you know, switch teams.”

Maybe Eric’s not hearing them right. “Look, I get that she’s, like, filling in for me. Like, she’s a good manager, she makes his decisions —”

“No, she’s  _you_. Like, Girl E. Eric _a_.” Turtle holds up his hand and ticks off fingers as he goes. “Grew up in the neighborhood. Moved to L.A. to help out a friend. Loyal to a goddamned fault.”

“I’m blushing,” Eric says, but Turtle keeps going.

“Fucking freaky about keeping a schedule. Always pushing Vince to be a little more rational.”

Drama gestures with his fork. “Last week, we’re shopping for a birthday gift for Ma, Vince tried to buy Anita a diamond necklace. She says, ‘I’m not going to take a gift just to take a gift. You should save your money.’”

“It was creepy,” Turtle says, shaking his head. “I felt like you were there.”

“This is dumb,” Eric says. “Vince isn’t banging some girl because — what, you think he’s got some issue with me?”

“I think Vince is banging some girl because he isn’t banging you,” Turtle says, and now Eric really  _is_  blushing. “And you oughtta do something about that.”

Eric snorts. “Like what? Hey, Vince, the guys think your girlfriend and I are basically the same person, so why don’t we ditch the middlewoman?”

“Ah ha,” Drama says. “You do wanna fuck him.”

“Whatever,” Eric says, and stands up.

“Hey,” Turtle calls after him, “you gotta take this seriously, or he’s gonna end up married to Erica.”

“Fuck you,” Eric yells, and drives home to sleep off his hangover.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, he can’t stop thinking about it. He goes to dinner with Vince and Anita later that week, and she shows up wearing a sweater with a collared shirt peeking through the top — almost the exact same thing he wore the day before, but with a lower neckline. She gives Vince a hard time about not shaving, something Eric’s been on his case about in the past, and when Vince tries to order a $300 bottle of wine, she demurs and says she’d rather just have a beer.

“OK,” he says, when he and Turtle are waiting for Vince and Drama to arrive for lunch the next day, “we have a few things in common.”

“A few? You know what her favorite movie is?”

Eric sighs. “Taxi Driver.”

“And the second Godfather,” Turtle says, and Eric rubs his forehead. Of fucking course. His favorites, and also Vince’s, since they were old enough to sneak in and see them.

“So what do I do?” Eric says.

Turtle looks over at him. “You serious?” Eric shrugs, then nods. “Go after him,” he says.

That, Eric is certain, is not the right answer. No, if Vince is so spooked about maybe being attracted to Eric that he’s fucking Eric’s female clone, a headlong charge is probably not the best strategy. Even if it’s not so far off to think that Vince might be interested in a guy.

But he can’t think of anything else to do. “Like how?” he asks.

“I’ll set it up,” Turtle says, and Eric groans.

“Well, this’ll be a disaster,” he says, but he lets Turtle do it anyway. What does he have to lose?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Turtle calls the next afternoon. “Dinner, tonight. Come over.”

“All right,” Eric says. “Who’s coming?”

“Just us. No Erica.”

“Stop calling her that.”

“And wear something hot.”

Eric chokes on his coffee. “What?”

“The plan, baby!” Turtle says. “We’re kicking it off tonight.”

“Uh, Turtle —”

“I gotta go, Vince just pulled up. Later.”

Eric flips his phone closed, feeling a tremble of nerves. There’s no way that this can end well, sure, but at least it’s guaranteed to make something change. That’s probably what needs to happen. He puts the phone in his pocket and turns back to his calendar, where he schedules in dinner for that night with a big red question mark.

He shows up at the house around 7, wearing Gucci pants and a black shirt; not really dressed up, he tells himself, because it’s the same thing he wore around town all day. It still fits with Turtle’s advice, though — he knows he looks good. He leaves the jacket in the car, and debates for nearly a full minute about whether to bring in the wine he picked up. He finally decides for it.

Turtle lets him in and gives him a thumbs up, which makes Eric roll his eyes. He hopes he isn’t blushing. Every step leads him a little further into the morass of awkwardness. Maybe it’s not too late to just turn and run.

Vince is standing at the kitchen island, asking Drama about something while he cooks. He’s wearing drab khakis and a navy T-shirt, and his hair is a messy tangle.

“Hey, it’s the working man,” Vince says, grinning at him.

“Looking sharp, E,” Drama says, which means he’s in on Turtle’s plan. No way Vince isn’t going to catch on, Eric decides. The best plan is to start drinking early and hope that Vince gets so drunk he doesn’t remember anything. Second best, he’ll just blame it on the two morons and maybe they’ll have a good laugh about it.

Eric sets the bottle on the island. “I’ve always been the sharpest dressed guy in this room,” he says.

“And if that wasn’t a sign of things to come, I don’t know what was,” Turtle says, and Eric laughs. “You remember E in high school? Only kid on the block who didn’t have to borrow his pop’s good shoes for prom.”

Vince grins. “What’s this?” he asks, reaching for the bottle.

“Eh, I got it as a gift,” he says, which isn’t true at all; he paid $216 over lunch. “Think it’s any good?”

“Let’s find out,” Vince suggests.

This, it turns out, is actually half of Turtle’s plan: a night of drinking and reminiscing. They cluster around the coffee table to eat Drama’s special caramelized onion risotto, homemade foccacia, and grilled, marinated rib-eye. The wine flows, and then the beer, and by midnight Eric’s sunk back in the couch, laughing as Drama objects to Turtle’s characterization of his high school girlfriend as “mustachioed.”

“She did not have a mustache,” Drama says.

“She was practically a guy,” Turtle says.

“She was aggressive,” Drama admits, with a little growl, and they all laugh.

“Fuck, high school.” Vince stretches out, his arms slung along the back of the couch so that one is spread behind Eric. He wishes he didn’t notice it, but Turtle gives him a thumbs up. “Seems like forever ago, right?”

“I don’t know,” Drama says, his tone turning theatrical, “to me it seems like only yesterday the four of us were roaming the halls —”

“What is this, a dramatic retelling? You weren’t in our class,” Turtle objects. 

Eric laughs. “It does seem like a long time ago,” he says, and looks over at Vince. “I mean, considering where we are now.”

“It’s not so different,” Vince says. “I’m still surrounded by my closest pals in the world.” He meets Eric’s eyes, and Eric sees something there that he’s missed, really missed, for the past few months: a warmth, an affection, that Vince has been hiding or withholding since Eric hooked up with Lucas. Eric smiles back, a little tentatively, not wanting to ruin this, and offers his beer bottle for a toast with Vince’s.

“To old times,” Turtle says. “And old friends.”

“Old friends are the best friends,” Drama says, clinking his bottle noisily against everyone’s. “Is that how the saying goes?”

“I think it’s old friends are the best lovers,” Turtle says, and Eric blinks and can’t help glancing over at him. Turtle shrugs. “Just saying. That’s the quote.”

“You’re a moron,” Eric says, and Vince laughs.

“Ahh, the friendship lasts forever, and so do the insults,” he says, and his hand drops warmly onto Eric’s shoulder.

Drama sits up straight. “Anyone want another beer? Vince? You look like you’re almost done.”

Vince shrugs. His head has slipped back onto the couch, so it’s very close to landing on Eric’s shoulder. “I’ll take another in a bit,” he says. When he turns, his nose brushes Eric’s sleeve. “You need another?”

Eric’s throat is a little dry. “Maybe,” he says, though his bottle is about half-full.

“OK. I’ll go get some,” Drama says, and disappears into the kitchen. Eric flinches when he hears him yell, a moment later, “Hey, it seems we’re all out of beer. Turtle, maybe we should get some more.”

Turtle stands like he’s been remote-control activated. “That’s a great idea,” he says, his delivery terribly wooden. Eric has to fight not to hit his own forehead with his hand.

Vince, who must be drunker than Eric thought, sits up a little. “Guys, don’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble,” Turtle says, already reaching for his keys.

“Are you OK to drive?” Eric asks, and Turtle nods vigorously.

“I held back,” he says, and Vince looks curious. Eric watches Turtle blush. “Because, I mean, I thought we might want to go out or something. Not because I thought we’d run out of beer, because I bought the beer.”

“Let’s go,” Drama says, grabbing Turtle by the arm, and Eric is at once relieved and frightened to see them go.

Vince looks up at him after they’ve left. “Our friends are total freaks, right?”

“Total,” Eric agrees. Vince settles back down, his head now resting on Eric’s shoulder. “You picked them.”

“You knew Turtle first,” Vince says. “And besides, Johnny was thrust upon me.”

Eric shakes his head. Vince is so close that his hair tickles Eric’s neck. “A likely excuse,” he says, and Vince grins up at him. Eric clears his throat. He wants to ask what’s going on, or what’s been going on. He wants to ask about Anita, and — somehow — about the guys’ theory. He wonders if he’s supposed to kiss Vince, and then he wonders — for too long — whether he wants to.

Before he can say anything, though, Vince jerks slightly and sits up. He pulls his phone from his pocket, answers, “Hey, baby,” and Eric suppresses a groan. Anita. Of course, he thinks. The only flaw in Turtle’s plan — aside from some fucking terrible acting — was this.

The guys get back about thirty minutes later. Eric’s waiting in the kitchen. “No beer even?” he says.

“We left it in the car, so we could travel light,” Drama says. “In case we needed our hands free to shield our eyes.”

“No go?” Turtle says, and he looks truly disappointed.

“He’s on the phone with Anita,” Eric says, and Turtle shakes his head. “Good effort, though, man. And thanks for dinner, Drama.”

“This isn’t over!” Turtle calls as Eric walks out, and Eric shakes his head. It’s on the tip of his tongue to say that it is, but that moment on the couch — where Vince looked at him, really looked at him like he used to — reminds him that something’s got to change. So he just waves good-night over his shoulder, pops his head into Vince’s room to wave at him, and drives home again. Alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Turtle calls a few days later. “Let’s all go out tonight.”

“All right,” he says. “Just us?”

“Yeah.”

“Look, this isn’t part of your dumb-ass plan, is it?”

“Nah,” Turtle says. “That’s going into stealth mode.”

“Kinda like your sex life the last few years?”

“Fuck you, motherfucker. Ten?”

“Yeah.”

So the guys roll by to pick him at ten, and Eric’s a little surprised to see Anita is joining them. She’s dressed more like Vince’s usual dates, in a short, hot little dress, but unlike his usual girls there’s no untoward amount of cleavage showing, and she doesn’t cling to him or flatter him too much. Somewhat against his will, Eric realizes he likes her, and that, Turtle and Drama’s theories notwithstanding, maybe she is a good match for Vince. Once she says, at the bar, that she’s not that interested in being in talent management — “I’ve really gotten into Web production,” she says — Eric decides there’s not much about her he can object to. Really, he thinks, it’s not so bad. Vince settling down with someone like this — it’s a good scenario.

Drama and Turtle cruise the joint for unlucky girls, and Vince and Anita hit the dance floor. Eric gets tired of sitting by himself and instead walks to the bar. Since they’re in the really VIP section, and it’s a Tuesday night, it’s not too crowded. He takes a stool and orders a Jack and Coke, looks up at the flat screen to see if they’re showing any basketball.

“E, right?”

Eric turns as a guy takes the seat next to his. But not just any guy: Travis Walters, indie movie darling, rumored to be the next Spider-Man villain. He’s a lean guy with short, wavy sand-colored hair and famously green eyes. He is also really, really hot. “Hey, Travis,” he says, proud that his voice is steady, and offers a hand.

His grip is smooth and steady; his smile is perfect and white and utterly charming. “Do you remember, we met at Sundance?”

“Yeah,” Eric says. Of course he remembers: Travis was a force even then, even though his small movie didn’t win. He remembers thinking,  _that kid is the next Vince_. Now, he takes in the bright eyes, the closeness of his stool, and wonders if it’s possible that Travis Walters has come to the bar to flirt with him. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Who could forget? You tore Billy Walsh a new one in front of everybody.”

“Which time?” Eric says, and Travis laughs again.

“I seem to remember a threat of physical violence,” he says. “Something about suggesting exactly where he could put his script.”

“That’s a conversation we had a lot,” Eric says.

Travis’s still smiling. “You make quite an impression,” he says, and Eric feels himself blush. Definitely possible.

“That’s not usually the reaction I get,” he says. “But, you know, you, too. I saw Bookie last week — that’s some fucking brilliant stuff, man.”

“Thank you.” The bartender stops in front of them, and Travis says, “Bombay, tonic, lime. And whatever he’s drinking.” Definitely flirting, Eric decides, and says thanks with a charming smile of his own.

“So what are you working on now?” Eric asks.

They talk for a while and drink a bit, and Eric loses track of time and, more importantly, of Vince and Anita and the guys. When Turtle walks up a while later with Drama in tow, Eric introduces them all. Drama starts asking Travis about any open roles in some upcoming project, and Eric rolls his eyes in sympathy. Turtle grabs his elbow and nearly yanks him off the stool. “Guys, I’m gonna borrow him,” he says, and Eric jerks his arm away.

“What the —”

“I need your help with something, OK?” Turtle says, making his eyes big and wide —  _please, dude_. Eric carefully touches Travis’s shoulder and says, “We’ll be right back,” and then he follows Turtle through the crowd a few feet.

“Man, you’d better be on fucking fire or something, because I was kind of in the middle of something there.”

“I know!” Turtle says, and he’s grinning. “E, that’s fucking good work! We’re out of stealth mode now, huh?”

Eric glances around. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Never underestimate the power of jealousy,” Turtle says.

Eric snorts. “Turtle, I’m not doing this to get Vince’s attention.”

“Sure,” Turtle says, with this annoying all-knowing voice.

“You should get your head examined,” Eric says. “A fucking movie star just bought me a drink. A fucking  _hot_  movie star. And I’m standing here talking to you, letting Drama hold on to him — maybe I should get my head examined.”

“I’m just sayin’ —”

“Don’t,” Eric says. “No more plans, all right?”

“Whatever you say.”

Eric’s allowed to go back to Travis, then, and as an apology for leaving him with Drama he buys the next round. Travis suggests they take the drinks back to his table.

“Sounds good,” Eric says, and follows him across the bar, to a set of low couches and tables similar to what Vince has on the other side. Travis has a few friends with him, and Eric is introduced around amiably. They’re mostly caught up in talking about some new show in Vegas that he’s never heard of, and for a moment that ads to his discomfort until Travis sits right next to him and asks him what he thought of  _Buck Rogers_ , and then they’re off, again. He’s a smart guy, smarter than most of the actors Eric’s used to being around — he talks more like a manager or an agent than an actor, with quick numbers on who’s getting what made and for how much. Eric likes that, likes how in charge Travis feels of his own success.

After a while — Eric’s not sure how much time passes, because it feels like no time at all but could be an hour or even two — Vince and Anita stop by the table. “Hey, what’s up, man?” Vince says, shaking Travis’s hand like they’re old friends. That’s how it usually is with actors, anyway.

“Not much,” Travis says. “Sorry I stole your boy, here, but it looks like you had good company.”

Vince introduces Anita, and they take seats at the small table with Eric and Travis. They make a little awkward small talk about projects and people they should all know, and Eric notices that Vince keeps glancing at Travis’s hand, which is resting casually on Eric’s leg.

“You guys want to get a bite, maybe?” Vince asks, when they’re standing to leave.

Eric glances at Travis. “I’m kind of wiped out,” Travis says.

“Oh? That’s too bad,” Vince says, his tone and delivery perfect. He shakes Travis’s hand. “Good to see you, again, man. We should do something together, get E to set it up.”

Travis smiles and says something kind back, but the look he gives Eric is one Eric recognizes. He’s not tired; he’s tired of the crowd. When Vince says, “Where should we go?” Eric’s looking at Travis.

He puts his hand on Travis’s back. “You know what, I’ll catch you up later,” he says, and Travis grins.

“You don’t have a car here,” Vince says. “Remember?”

Eric smirks. “Can you give me a ride, Travis, you think?”

Travis puts his mouth right against Eric’s ear and says, “I’m known for it,” and Eric snickers. 

“Vince, I think I’m good,” he says. 

Vince’s tone gets a little pointed. “Can I talk to you a second, if you’re not coming?”

Eric nods and tells Travis he’ll be right back. “OK, what, Vince?” he asks, following him back to the table on the other side of the room. They stop a few yards short of the table, where Turtle and Drama are standing, and Anita walks away to them at some cue from Vince.

“You’re gonna ditch us for Travis Walters?” Vince asks.

Eric shrugs. “You guys are just going home, right? So what’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big — this isn’t like you, that’s the big deal,” Vince says. “You’re gonna go home with some guy you just met at a club?”

“Vin, it’s Travis Walters,” Eric says. “I don’t think he’s gonna take me home and stuff me in the freezer. But thanks for the concern, pal.” Vince is glaring at him, and Eric can’t figure out exactly what’s going on. “What, you have some beef with this guy I don’t know about?”

“No,” Vince says, but he sounds uncertain. “I just think it’s weird. I mean, kind of fast.”

“You. You who once banged a girl you met waiting in the express check out at CVS in the attached parking deck, you think I haven’t known him long enough?” Eric shakes his head. “Take your girlfriend home, man, and I’ll catch you later.”

“Fine,” Vince says. “But don’t blame me if this goes bad and you end up all broken-hearted tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Eric says, then waves to the other guys and Anita and crosses back to Travis’s table.

“Anything wrong?” Travis asks when Eric sits next to him.

“Nah,” Eric says, and turns his full attention back to Travis. They do actually split pretty quickly after Vince does, and Travis drives them both back to his place, a not-too-flashy condo in Beverly Hills. “I hope you didn’t really want a ride home,” Travis says, opening his bedroom door.

“Not tonight,” Eric says, and then pins him to the bed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eric wakes up the next morning in Travis Walters’s bed, a little hungover and instantly nervous. He’s not exactly sure how this morning-after should go, or even how he wants it to go. He spent the whole night talking with this guy, and the sex was pretty spectacular, so, really, he’d like to see him — all of him — again, and soon, and often. But he’s been around enough movie stars to know that commitment is the exception, not the rule, in situations like this. So he finds his shorts and pants before he follows some noise to the kitchen.

Travis is standing, in shorts, at the open refrigerator, surveying the contents in dismay. He smiles over at Eric when he walks in. “So, this is a disaster area,” he says. “I haven’t been back here in a few weeks, and — anyway, I think we might have to go out for breakfast.” Eric nods. Travis closes the door, then reaches over and puts his hands on Eric’s waist. “Though I can make some coffee if you want it.”

“Yeah, please,” Eric says. “And, uh, I might borrow your shower.”

“You bet,” Travis says. He lowers his face and kisses the juncture of Eric’s neck and shoulder. His skin is warm under Eric’s fingers. “You smell pretty good to me, though.”

“You could join me,” Eric suggests, and Travis grins.

They do eventually go out to lunch, and there, they manage to have a conversation they probably should have had the night before. Travis has just come back from New York, and is getting ready to film in a few months and doing some press before that starts. He’s single, and happened to know Eric was in the market, he says, because he and Lucas share a hair-stylist in New York. 

“Don’t hold that against me, all right?”

Eric shrugs. “He always had good hair.”

Travis smiles. “I totally don’t blame you. He’s pretty hot.”

“So’re you.”

“Thanks,” Travis says, with an easy-casual tone that reminds Eric again that this guy is a real star. “Speaking of hot guys in your life, uh — can I ask you something? What’s up with Vince Chase?”

“I’m his manager,” Eric says.

“And?”

“And we’ve been best friends for about forever.” Eric narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Travis shrugs. “I dunno. Just, last night, he didn’t seem to happy you were cutting out on them.”

“Yeah. He’s — he hasn’t taken the whole me dating guys thing so great,” Eric says. “Not Luke’s biggest fan.”

“Is there — have you guys ever —?”

“No,” Eric says, but he says it kind of softly. “He’s not into that.”

“Are you?”

“Into him?” Travis nods. “No. I mean — he’s hot, I get it. But he’s like my brother or something. I dunno. Things wouldn’t work for us, even if he was bi.” He scratches his neck, feeling a little nervous but knowing he needs to say this. “The thing is — Vince doesn’t do serious. And I — it’s kind of almost all I do. Like, I don’t do the thing where you’re, like, with one person but looking for another.” He takes a sip of his coffee to cover his nervousness. “So what about you? Single? Please tell me you don’t have a secret boyfriend waiting in New York or something.”

Travis laughs. “No way. Single, and — for what it’s worth — I don’t look, either, when I’m with somebody. Which, right now, seems like it could be an upcoming possibility.”

“An upcoming possibility, huh?” Eric raises an eyebrow and leans forward. “You know what should be an upcoming definite? You and me and dinner, tomorrow night.”

“Yeah,” Travis says, grinning, “I agree.”

When he goes back to Vince’s place that night, Turtle makes a big show of pressing him for details. Eric doesn’t really give in — he tells them he had a good time, and mentions the coffee and then the shower under duress — because Vince looks mad and kind of uncomfortable the whole time. But he manages to say, “That’s great,” when Eric says he’s seeing Travis for a second time, and Eric decides that’s a good sign.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few weeks are a blur. Eric’s busy helping Vince get ready to film and with the occasional audition for Josie, but he manages to make time to see Travis just about whenever he can. They go to dinner, to lunch, to an art exhibit he’s interested in, twice to the beach and several times just back to Travis’s condo. He meets Travis’s manager, Lisa, and then, one weekend, his sister. In between, they trade text messages and long phone calls. They don’t go out with the guys, because having two movie stars in the same pack would attract headlines, but Eric does meet Travis’s friends, and they get along pretty well. Eric realizes he’s actually been wanting this — that the casual stuff has nothing on an actually building a relationship.

One afternoon, Vince and Eric have a meeting with Ari that runs long. Eric gets out his phone in the elevator, and Vince glances over. “Who’re you calling?” he asks.

Things have been tense between them, again, and Eric isn’t at all convinced that it’s rooted in jealousy, as Turtle suggests. He thinks Vince’s jealousy has waned, and they’re now back exactly where they were when Eric was with Lucas — Vince being hostile and Eric feeling hurt, bewildered, and now angry about it. But Eric’s not willing to make a big deal out of it, yet, because things are going well for him with Travis, and he’s hoping Vince will just get over it. “I’m calling Travis to let him know I’ll be late for lunch,” he says, unable to resist dropping his name.

Vince frowns. “Where are you going?”

“The London.”

He nods, and Eric hits the speed dial for Travis’s cell. As it rings, Vince puts his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Ask if I can come along,” he says, and Eric is so surprised that Travis says hello twice before he can reply.

They have lunch just the three of them. It’s not really as awkward as Eric would have guessed, mostly because both Vince and Travis are very good actors and Eric has picked up an ability to be a Hollywood bullshitter somewhere along the way. They talk about their projects — Travis just finished filming a period piece and Vince is about a week away from  _Year of the Daisies_  — and their contacts, and Travis tells a funny story that Eric’s heard before about how Ari was almost his agent. When they finish eating, before they step into the glare of the paparazzi, Travis leans in and kisses Eric, just a quick kiss, and says, “Call me tonight, OK?”

“Yeah,” Eric says, squeezing his arm before he darts outside. Eric doesn’t look over at Vince, just watches Travis drive away.

When they’re settled in their car, Eric realizes Vince has been quiet for a long time. “Hey, you all right?” he asks.

Vince laughs, almost to himself. “You really like him,” he says. “I mean, you guys are like — you’re serious.”

Eric shrugs. “What, did you think we were just fucking around?”

“I don’t know what I thought,” Vince murmurs, and he rubs his face with both hands, then stays quiet for the rest of the trip.

At the house, Eric isn’t sure what to do. Vince gets out of the car and walks inside without a word, and Eric is of half a mind to just drive away. Or maybe drive to Travis’s place. Instead, he turns off the car and goes after Vince. “Hey,” he yells, following him into the kitchen. “What is your deal?”

“My deal?” Vince turns from the sink, holding a glass of water. “What do you mean, my deal?”

“I mean you’re fucking doing it again,” Eric says. All of the hurt and anger he’s had bottled up since Lucas comes frothing forth. “You’re treating me like I’m some alien, or like I’ve betrayed you or something, and it’s fucking messed up. If you’re unhappy with me, Vince, if you want to say something, fucking say it and stop this juvenile silent treatment shit.”

Vince scoffs. “I’m messed up? I’m — you’re the one who’s suddenly obsessed with dating Hollywood stars, E. You don’t think it looks crazy? My manager suddenly hooking up with half of the industry’s up-and-comers? First Luke, now Travis — who’s next? You going after Jake, maybe?”

“I’m embarrassing you?” Eric says, his voice almost a hiss. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“It’s kind of weird,” Vince says, his voice infuriatingly casual, “you’ve got to admit -”

Eric slams his hands on the counter. “Fuck you,” he shouts. “Fuck you, talking about who I’m —”

“You have to get how it looks —”

“— who  _I’m_  fucking when you’re banging the chick version of me,” Eric finishes, and Vince flinches. He feels like he should draw back, he knows this is crossing the line, but Eric can’t stop now. “At least I’ve been brave enough to go after who I want, I mean, Jesus, at least I’ve got the fucking gender right,” he says. “And fuck you for saying those guys are replacements. Travis is way smarter than you’ll ever be, and Luke had a bigger dick.”

Vince’s eyes are wide, his face starting to turn red. He sets the water glass down on the counter edge, says, “You think I’m — Fuck you, E, I’m straight, remember?”

“Right,” Eric says, “right, except for, what’s his name, Tommy Brennan in high school.”

Vince presses his lips together and shakes his head. “That was one —”

“And Ken Carter, after that,” Eric says. “And that guy, the sound tech, on Aquaman —”

“Fuck you, I was high,” Vince says.

“And what, you forgot he had a cock? It’s not something you just overlook.”

“You would know,” Vince sneers, and the up-and-down look he gives Eric is so ugly Eric has to grab the counter top to keep from striking him.

“Yeah, Vince, I would, because I’m a fucking faggot,” Eric growls. “That’s what you wanna say, right? That’s what you’ve been wanting to say for months. Go ahead, just get it out of your fucking system. You wanna call me a cocksucker? Go on.”

“I’m not — this isn’t about that,” Vince says.

“Right,” Eric says. “Right. You’ve been treating me like fucking scum, like a stranger, for months, and it started when I hooked up with Luke, and you want me to believe it’s got nothing to do with me being gay.”

Vince shakes his head and steps forward, holding up one hand, and he says, “You’re hooking up with some guy, it doesn’t make you gay, E. All right?”

“It’s more than hooking up,” Eric says. “You get this, right? I’m dating him, and Vince, I’m pretty into him.”

“Whatever,” Vince says. “Everybody has stupid phases. You’re not really —”

“Yes I am,” Eric yells, and he slams his hands down on the counter top and knocks Vince’s glass to the floor. 

It falls and shatters, and Vince jumps and yells, “Fuck!” Water and glass spread everywhere.

Eric takes a step back. His hands are shaking, his shoulders ache. He’s angry and frightened and starting to feel some serious regret about what he’s said about Vince, what they’ve said. Vince stares at the glass for a moment, then kneels to pick up the pieces. Eric bends to help. “Vin,” he says, his voice unsteady.

“Get out,” Vince says. His voice is flat, almost robotic. He’s collecting the glass into his palm, looking at it, not Eric. 

“I didn’t mean —”

“Leave, E.”

“Vince, we need to talk about this.” Vince shakes his head. “Seriously, man —”

“Just because you are,” Vince says, shards tinkling in his hand, “doesn’t mean I am.”

Eric almost falls backwards. He takes a breath, then says, “Fine,” as steadily as he can. “Fine,” he says again, and he stands. He hovers in the doorway for a second. When Vince doesn’t look up, Eric turns and walks to the driveway, where it takes him almost a full minute to get the key into the ignition before he drives away.

 

* * *

 

He forgets to call Travis but answers the phone when it rings at ten that night. He’s had a few beers, but when Shuana asks if he wants to get a drink, Eric agrees and says he’ll meet her. She gives him an address that he gives to the cabbie, and twenty minutes later, he’s in a hotel bar.

“You’re a fucking prick,” she says before he’s even taken his seat across from her.

He signals the waiter and orders a triple of Jack. “Coming from you, that means something,” he says when the guy is gone.

“You’re fucking goddamned Travis Walters, and you didn’t come to me first?” Shauna’s working on her second martini, from the glasses on the table, but Eric guesses there’s a little more behind her than that. “You, who I thought had a brain other than the one lodged in the tip of your dick.”

“Shauna —”

“I expect this shit from Vince,” she says, just as the waiter sets down Eric’s drink and a fresh one for Shauna. She holds out her hand, drains the martini, and then hands him the old glass and its friend. Once the waiter is gone, and once she swallows the liquor, without flinching, she says, “I expect to get calls saying,  _who the fuck is Vincent Chase fucking_ , I expect that, and I expect to have no goddamned good answer, OK? That is what I get paid for. What I do not get paid for —”

“Did you call me down here just to yell? Because we could’ve done that on the phone,” Eric says, taking a gulp from his glass.

“I do not get paid enough,” Shauna continues, holding the olive on its toothpick like a very small sword, “to get calls on the fucking weekend asking whether Vincent Chase’s fucking former live-in manager is fucking goddamned Travis Walters.”

“You kiss your kid with that mouth? Jesus,” Eric says, and he drains the rest of his glass just to have something to do. Motherfucking fuck, he thinks, as the liquor spreads in a warm wave across his shoulders. Motherfucking Shauna and motherfucking Travis and motherfucking jerktard  _Vince_.

Shauna takes a deep breath and puts both of her hands on the table. “OK,” she says, her voice eerily calm. “Now, let’s have this conversation.”

Eric can’t even look up at her. His head is swirling, so he rests it in his palm. “What do you want me to say?” he asks. His words sound thick, like he’s about to cry. Fuck that, he thinks, and wipes his face.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she says. It’s the reasonableness in her voice that makes Eric shudder and put his head down on his arms, and he’s glad, he’s so glad that Shauna doesn’t try to touch him, that she just asks the waiter for a couple of glasses of water and more napkins and then sits still until Eric can pull himself together enough to drink the iced water set in front of him.

“Sweetheart,” she says, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ.”

“I just had this fight — basically this exact same fight — with Vince,” Eric says, sipping from his water glass carefully. He focuses on Shauna’s watch. It’s a nice watch, probably Tag Heuer, like the one Vince bought for his mother last Christmas. Maybe he bought Shauna one, too — but no, Eric would have known. At least, he thinks he would have. He almost has to put his head back down.

“Do you serve food here?” Shauna snaps at the waiter, who's serving the booth beside them. “You, yeah, something with crackers and some goddamned protein, all right? The fastest thing you can make.” Now Shauna reaches out, puts her hand on one of his arms. “OK, Eric, you’re fucking scaring me,” she says.

He nods, but that makes the room spin, so he just leans back and rests his head against the booth. His breath is rushed in his ears and his heart is beating a mile a minute. “I’m OK,” he says, mostly to convince himself. “I’m just — a little fucked up.”

“I got that,” she says. “You want I should call someone? Johnny Drama, he’s not doing anything tonight, I’m sure.”

“No, it’s OK,” Eric says. He makes himself open his eyes. “I’m OK. Really.”

When he sits forward again, Shauna nods, gently, and takes a drink of her own water. “OK,” she says, and Eric repeats it. “So. Do you want to talk about this?”

He shrugs. “I’m fucking goddamned Travis Walters,” he says. “You were right.” 

She nods. Her eyes still say she’s a little frightened, and Eric actually laughs. “For how long?”

“About three months now.”

Then, because of the liquor, because of the unease in her eyes, because Eric just had a motherfucking world-ending fight with his best friend, he tells her the whole thing. Vince dating Anita. Vince being quiet after Lucas. Turtle and Drama and their plan. Travis and how fucking sweet he is. Vince and their fight — and he stops just short of telling her about the other guys, but when she asks, “Did you think — you have a reason to think he might be interested in men?” he nods very, very slightly. 

“But it’s not like that now,” he says. “Shauna — he won’t hardly even talk to me. My best friend, and he won’t even talk to me.”

Shauna sits back and picks up one of the crispy breadsticks which arrived halfway through his story along with a bowl of hummus and a heaping basket of pita bread. None of it sounds good, but Eric makes himself eat a pita wedge, chewing slowly, methodically, while Shauna sits in quiet thought. It tastes like cardboard.

“You morons,” she says after a minute, shaking her head. Eric stays very still. “Everything was going so well.” 

“But I fucked it up,” Eric says. “You should’ve seen his face today, I —”

“Nah,” she says, waving her hand. “You didn’t do shit, Eric. If he’s your friend — and he is — then you’re gonna get through this. Trust me, honey, he’s gonna get over it. He’s a good boy.”

“I accused him of being too cowardly to —”

“Let’s not say that one in public, OK?” Shauna says. When she leans in, there’s a sparkle of the usual meanness back in her eye, and Eric feels immediately, bizarrely relieved. “Look, so, it’s going to take him some time, but he’ll pull his head out and you’ll get along again.”

Eric wants to believe that, but he can’t even make himself nod. He keeps seeing Vince, hunched on the floor, not looking at him; he hears the steel in his voice. 

“Are you and Travis — I mean, is it serious?”

Eric closes his eyes. Him and Travis. He knows what he wants, but they haven’t really had that talk. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe. We’re getting there.”

“And who else knows?”

“The guys,” Eric says. “His manager, his sister. I don’t know, probably some of his friends.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, and it’s not in People yet,” Shauna says, and takes a hit from her water. “You’re lucky I’m so fucking maternal these days or I’d rip your goddamned balls off for all of this, Eric.”

“Maybe we’d be better off.” He picks up a breadstick and breaks it in half, drums the ends on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she says, digging through her purse.

“Why are we at a hotel?”

Her face is absolutely deadpan serious. “Because I was hoping to get you drunk and fuck you,” she says, and Eric laughs. “Lucy just finished an interview in a suite up top.”

“Oh.” He can’t think of anything else to say; in fact, he’s starting to feel uncomfortable, remembering all the things he’s just told her. He can feel his face heating up, even as she’s checking her messages.

She snaps the phone closed. “Honey, you look like shit,” she says. “Maybe you should get a room here, relax. But if you’re gonna call Travis, ask him to come in the back way, all right? For the love of God.”

Eric tries to smile. “This is why you’re on my speed dial, I guess.”

“My picture should be on your goddamned nightstand, all the shit I’ve put up with from you,” she says, but she’s smiling, too, so Eric feels like they’re going to be OK. 

While she’s paying the bill, Eric calls Travis, because he said he would. “Hey,” Travis says, voice warm and sleepy.

“Hey,” Eric says. He stands up and has to keep a hand on the table to stay on his feet. “Uh, wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it is.”

“It’s not that late,” Travis says, even though it’s nearly one. “Where are you?”

“A hotel. I’m at — Shauna just got done yelling at me.” He rests his forehead in one hand. “I’m getting yelled at a lot today.”

“Yeah? Are you drunk?”

“Yeah,” Eric says, and then he apologizes again.

“Hey, it happens,” Travis says. “Are you — you aren’t driving, are you?”

“No,” Eric says. “Shauna says I should stay here.”

“Where are you, E?” he asks again.

“The Beverly Wilshire,” he says.

“Stay put, all right? I’ll come get you.”

Eric shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Travis says, so Eric says OK.

By the time he gets there thirty minutes later, Eric’s sobered up enough to realize that he shouldn’t have dragged his maybe-boyfriend the movie star out of bed when he could’ve probably survived a cab ride. But when Travis arrives, he smiles at Eric, and he’s the first person who’s been happy to see him all day. Eric is ridiculously grateful. Travis puts his arm around Eric’s shoulders on the way to the car, and Eric leans into him, presses his face against Travis’s side. 

“I’m glad to see you,” he says, and Travis squeezes his shoulders and steers him to the car. They don’t talk about the fight on the way back to Travis’s place — Eric decides if Travis asks, he’ll tell him everything, but he doesn’t want to rehash it all yet, not while he’s still feeling so raw about it all. Instead, he lets Travis help him to bed and curls up with him, out before the lights are even off.

In the morning, he wakes up when Travis sits next to him, sun streaming in from behind the blinds. “Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” Travis says. “I checked your Blackberry, you don’t have anything this morning, right?”

“I don’t think so.” He wouldn’t make it even if he did.

Travis rubs his shoulder. “Come out to the kitchen,” he says. “I’ll make coffee.”

Eric detours to take a shower and some Tylenol and to rinse out his mouth with some of Travis’s mouthwash. He feels a little more human when he takes a seat on a stool at the counter, and Travis hands him a cup of black coffee. 

“So what was Shauna yelling at you about?” Travis asks.

Eric tips his head down, staring at his coffee. He should tell Travis the whole story, but he’s just not ready, not yet. “Uh, the usual stuff,” Eric says. “Actually, she was kind of pissed I didn’t tell her about you.”

“Publicists,” he says. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t — actually, I might be famous enough to cut a good plea bargain if I killed a publicist. What do you think?”

“You don’t have anything against managers, right?”

Travis smirks. “Nothing bad.”

“Listen, thank you for coming to get me, last night. I was pretty fucked up.”

“It’s seriously no problem,” Travis says. “It’s good to see you, even when you’re fucked up.”

Eric smiles, even though his head’s pretty sore. “Thanks, I think. It’s good to be seen. I just — I really was glad to see you last night, and to, uh. You know. Have somewhere to go.”

Travis nods. “I was thinking, actually, maybe you should leave some stuff here.”

Eric looks down at his clothes, wrinkled and bar-smelly from yesterday, and says, “You don’t mind?”

“Nah,” he says. “Makes sense, right?”

“Yeah,” Eric says, “I guess so.”

“And I’ll get you a key,” Travis says, and Eric looks up from his coffee. Travis smiles. “Big step?”

It is. Eric hasn’t ever had a key to a girl’s apartment; really, the only person who’s ever handed him his own keys was Vince. But the truth is it does make sense, because they spend a lot of time together, and Travis has a way nicer place than he does and he’s closer to almost everywhere Eric usually goes. Everywhere but Vince’s house, and, well, Eric could do with some distance. More than any of that, Eric  _wants_  to have a place to go, like this; he wants to spend more time with Travis. So he agrees to go home and get some stuff and come back the next evening, and Travis kisses him before he leaves.

 

* * *

 

The next day, he calls in sick for work for the first time ever. Ever. Not even at Sbarro’s, not even when he had pneumonia, not even when he was working the goddamned concession stand at the high school choir concerts so he could get free tickets to see Vince’s plays, has he ever called in sick. He’s not really sure how to do it, except that he can’t talk to Vince and that means he can’t call the guys. So he calls Ari.

“Do you know how much my wife loves it when other women call me in the middle of the fucking night, E?” Ari asks.

“Ari, hey, listen,” he starts, but Ari carries on.

“Shauna called here at two a.m. the other night to tell me the details of your little tete-á-tete. Needless to say, when she asked if I thought someone should check on you, that was a resounding no.”

“Yeah, well, I made it through the night, sorry, Ari,” Eric says. “But about today —”

“Today, we have the fucking meeting with Anderson to nail the fucking costume down, and you know how our boy gets about costumes, E.”

“You don’t want me there,” Eric says. “Seriously, Ari, if he sees me —”

“If he sees you,” Ari says, and Eric nearly holds the phone away from his ear, Ari sounds so venomous, “he’s going to act like the fucking professional he is, and you’re going to pretend to be the motherfucking professional you aren’t and you’re going to hold his fucking hand until we’re set on this goddamned Oscar-baiting movie.” Ari heaves a breath and so does Eric. “If you aren’t at Paramount in two hours, Eric, two fucking itty bitty hours, I don’t care what your excuse is, I don’t care if you had to stop to deliver the motherfucking next coming of Christ on the freeway, I will find you and I will kill you. I will kill you twice, resurrect you, and kill you again. Do you understand me?”

“OK, OK,” Eric says, trying for his usual tone of indifference even though his hands are fucking shaking. He hangs up and gets out of bed, starts to get ready. It’s not that he’s scared of Ari — he’s scared of Vince. He’s scared he’s going to show up in two hours and Vince is going to punch him, or fire him, or, worse, just ignore him.

“Don’t think about it,” he says to himself, shampooing his hair. This is how he got through high school, after all — this is how he’s gotten through life, until recently, spending a lot of time  _not thinking about it_. Of course, “it” used to be just guys in general, not the fact that this one guy, his best friend, has such a problem with it, but Eric can manage all the same.

Instead, he thinks of how exactly he’s gotten himself into this. Lucas. On the set, they had such a fucking good time, it was like the guy was just one of them, like they’d all grown up together. Even Vince said that, while they were working. “This guy, it’s like he gets us, like he’s one of us, you know?” he said, and Eric agreed. Of course he agreed. And then Lucas had dropped a hint, one night, while they were in the editing trailer just the two of them, Vince and Turtle and Drama off at some raucous party that was supposed to be stocked with gorgeous South American beauties. “What, no Latin ladies for you?” he asked, and Eric shrugged and took the joint from him.

“Not really my scene,” he said. “This is fucking good shit, man.”

“Home grown.”

Eric nodded his approval, then exhaled. “What about you, this stuff could get done tomorrow.”

Lucas laughed. “Not my scene, either,” he said, taking the joint back.

“Not a party man?”

“Love to party,” Lucas said. “Just not that into the ladies part.”

“Huh,” Eric said, and instead of just saying, that’s cool, man, or something equally lame, he said, “You know, me either,” and that was how it started.

He had plenty of time to rethink it after that, plenty of time to take it back or blame it on the pot or whatever, and he planned to do it the next day. But stepping out of his trailer — his very own producer’s trailer, not Vince’s, not on this set — he looked around and thought, if not now, then when. That night when the other guys went into town to drink at the cantina, Eric stayed behind and drank with Lucas in his trailer, and that’s where he woke up the next morning, and that’s how it all went down.

And that’s how he got where he is now, sitting in his car outside the Paramount gates, fumbling with his ID and hoping the guard can’t see his hands are shaking.

She can, apparently, because she gives him a big friendly smile and says, “Knock ‘em dead,” before she waves Eric through.

He finds his way to the lot where they’re meeting so Anderson can show them the costume in context, something he’s big on. Their black Escalade is parked right in front, and Turtle’s leaning against it. He knocks on the back window as Eric pulls in. By the time he gets out of the car, Vince is standing next to Turtle, with his arms crossed and his sunglasses on. Eric clears his throat. “You ready?” he says, glad his voice is steady. Professional.

Vince shrugs, but he follows him to the door, and they walk right in and across the dusty floor of the set to where Eric can hear Ari’s voice echoing off the tin walls. “And there he is, see, right on time,” Ari says, and Eric guesses the glance at his watch is meant for him. He shrugs and crosses his own arms and stands right next to Vince as Anderson and his costuming girl unveil a series of running outfits, complete with headbands and seventies-era sneakers.

Vince snaps off his sunglasses and looks them all up and down, then looks at Eric. “What do you think, E?” he asks.

Eric tips his head to the side. His first thought is a joke, just like normal — I think your ass is gonna look hot in those — but he swallows that reaction down. “It fits with the character,” he says.

“And your ass is going to look great in those little shorts, huh? A little something for the ladies,” Ari says, and Vince rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, though,” he says, and turns to Anderson. “You gotta promise me all of America isn’t going to be seeing my cock out the bottom of these things.”

“Vince, I swear —”

“I want to see the dailies,” Eric says. “Last thing we need is a fucking NC-17 slapped on.”

“All right, all right,” Anderson concedes, “but you’ll take it?”

“Plus the beard?” Vince asks, and he nods. Vince glances at Eric.

“Also, the ending,” Eric says.

Anderson nods and slings an arm around one of the mannequins. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that, too,” he says. “I’m working on a rewrite. Can I get you a copy on the weekend?”

“Saturday,” Eric says, and Ari, who’s panting like a little dog, practically squeals.

“Otherwise, we’re good, right? Nothing standing in our way.”

Vince shrugs. “Let’s do this,” he says, and there are handshakes all around. And there, at least, Eric gets an answer to a question that’s been bothering him for months — he’s still good at his job. He can still do it well, even if Vince isn’t talking to him. Anita won’t be replacing him here.

Back in the sunlight, Ari looks at both of them and says, “That’s the way we handle these things, boys. I’d ask if you want to celebrate, but E, you’ve hit the bottle enough this week.” He shakes his head and walks to his car. “Paperwork tomorrow morning, you both come downtown and sign it, OK?”

“Right, right,” Eric says, and Ari gets into his car.

Vince has his glasses back on, his arms recrossed. It’s like a switch was flipped, like he’s back, now, to hating Eric or being mad or whatever. “You went drinking with Ari?”

“No,” Eric says, and decides he doesn’t have to elaborate. Right now, he’s just happy to have survived. 

“Hey, you comin’ to lunch?” Turtle asks, and Eric nearly flinches.

“No,” he says, after there’s a moment’s pause where Vince doesn’t chime in. “I gotta go to the office for a while.” He walks around his car, and the guys start to pile into the suburban. “Hey, don’t forget you’ve got a haircut tomorrow, right?”

“Right, right,” Vince says, and then he gets in and shuts the door. Eric doesn’t miss the sympathetic look he gets from Turtle, but he tries not to dwell on it. He heads for his office, or starts to, but along the way he realizes there’s nothing really that pressing for him to do. So he stops by his condo and picks up a few things, then drives over to Travis’s place, and finds Travis stretched out on the couch, watching car racing, like nothing’s wrong in the world. Eric gets it, then, that for Travis nothing is — he doesn’t know about the fight, and Eric suddenly doesn’t want to tell him, not yet, not until he’s got his head on a bit straighter.

“You’re a NASCAR fan?” Eric asks. 

“New role,” he says. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Yeah? The Van Sant racing thing, huh? I read that.”

Travis smiles up at him. “Jealous?”

Eric laughs and takes a seat on the couch, next to Travis’s knees. “Professionally, maybe,” he says. “But really, more like impressed. And happy for you.”

Travis slides his hand across Eric’s back, tugs gently on his shoulder. Even though he’s in business clothes, wearing a shirt that wrinkles when he looks at it funny and pants that aren’t made for lounging around, he lets himself be pulled down onto his side and settles in with Travis’s arm over his stomach. “He wants to film here, mostly,” Travis says, his breath warm on Eric’s neck.

“Now I’m even happier,” he murmurs, and Travis gives him a gentle squeeze.

They lay there for a while, watching cars speed in circles, listening to a low hum of commentary. Eric’s mind isn’t on the television, but, for the first time since he left lunch yesterday, it’s also not spinning and swirling around his fight with Vince. He feels — calm. Better. Whatever the fuck Vince is thinking, there’s nothing wrong with this.

The race ends and the announcers promise more to come, but Travis reaches out and snaps off the TV. Eric turns so he’s on his back, Travis looking down at him. Travis kisses him. “Hey,” he says. “How was your meeting this morning?”

Eric sighs. “A nightmare. I mean, it went fine, but — “ 

“Ari?”

“I — sort of,” Eric says, and Travis raises an eyebrow. He still doesn’t really want to get into the stupid fight with Vince. “I brought some clothes over,” Eric says, and Travis smiles.

“That’s good,” he says, “because I got you a key.”

“Can I just — can I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s gonna sound dumb.”

“Ask anyway.”

Eric swallows. “We are dating, right? I mean, that’s what you would you call this.”

There’s a tiny flicker of a smile at the very edge of Travis’s mouth, but he looks away, down toward where his hand is resting on Eric’s stomach. “I thought so,” he says. 

“Good,” Eric says.

“I kind of thought we were getting a little serious,” Travis says, still not looking at him. His fingers slip between two of the buttons on Eric’s shirt.

“Me, too,” Eric says, and it’s such a relief to say it out loud that he actually laughs. Travis looks up at him, confused for a second, but Eric kisses him and then he smiles. “I’m serious,” he says, and Travis laughs against his mouth. 

“Very serious,” Travis says, almost mocking, but then he shifts so he’s on top of Eric, and things actually do get pretty serious. Afterward, they move back to Travis’s bed and Eric falls asleep for a while, then wakes when Travis shakes his shoulder. “Phone,” he says, handing Eric his cell, and Eric thanks him. The number’s unfamiliar, so he clears his throat and sits up before answering. “Eric Murphy.”

“Hi, Eric. This is Anita.”

Eric glances over at Travis, who’s pulling on his shorts. “Uh, hey, Anita,” he says, and Travis looks over. Eric shrugs. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, nothing, really. Not much. I just — uh, are you with Vince, right now?”

“No, I don’t know where he is,” Eric says. 

“It’s just, we were supposed to meet, and I haven’t heard from him.”

Eric barely holds back a sigh. “You know, he might’ve gotten held up at the gym or something,” he says, which is nearly impossible but also plausible. “Do you have Turtle’s number? Try him, if Vince’s phone is dead.”

“Yeah, good idea,” she says. “Thanks, E.”

“Sure.” He hangs up, glances over at Travis. 

Travis has pulled on his jeans. “Anita?” Eric nods. “What’s up?”

Eric shrugs, pulling on his own shorts. “Vince stood her up for lunch or something.”

“They having trouble?”

“Hell if I know,” he says. “It’s not like either of them talks to me about it.” Travis walks by the bed, and Eric grabs him by the belt loop and pulls him closer. Travis’s hands fall gently to his shoulders, then cup his neck, and Eric looks up at him. He is so fucking gorgeous, Eric thinks, and he wonders how he’s had the luck to be this close with two guys who are this beautiful. 

“How are things with Vince?”

“Honestly? Pretty fucking bad,” Eric says.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Eric shrugs. “Not yet,” he says. “OK?”

“Sure,” Travis says, but there’s something a little too casual in his reply. Eric’s been around actors for fifteen years; he can tell when they’re trying too hard. But he doesn’t know what to say, exactly, to make things better, so he gets up and finds his shorts and then grabs his pants from the living room. When he’s dressed, he walks back to the kitchen, where Travis is drinking a beer.

“You wanna get some food?” Eric asks. “Early dinner?”

Travis nods, then clears his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“I — it’s just, look, I meant it, before, about — about things being serious, or wanting them to be, and I — I need to know, if you’re, if there’s something going on with Vince —”

Eric shakes his head. He wonders, but only for a second, if he should tell Travis about the guys’ plan, then decides against it. “I’ve got some issues with him,” he says, the fight banging around in his head. “Or, I guess, like I said, he’s got some issues with me. Maybe he’s always gonna. But — it’s got nothing to do with you and me.” Travis nods. Eric steps in close, takes the beer bottle away and then puts his arms around Travis’s waist. “I meant to tell you — thanks for the key. It — it means something. A lot.”

Travis nods. “We fit pretty well, don’t we?” he says, and Eric smiles up at him.

“Yeah, I think so,” he says, and Travis smiles back and kisses him. “Now, let me take you to dinner, all right? Just you and me.”

They have a nice dinner at a small pizza place Travis likes. It’s California pizza, nothing like back home, but Travis — though he has a place in the city — doesn’t know pizza from pizza. That’s OK, though, because he picks the wine expertly, and the whole thing is made better by a good Chianti and good company. After the check’s been paid, Eric leans on the table and looks across at Travis. 

Travis smiles at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Eric says, and he surprises himself a little when he reaches over and catches Travis’s hand. But it feels good — it feels pretty fucking right — and so he keeps hold of it, even as they leave the restaurant. In the car, he says, “I didn’t think about this, but, uh, Shauna, last night, she said people are talking —”

“Yeah,” Travis says, and he shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What’s Lisa say?”

Travis smirks. He turns to face Eric when they come to a stop. “What would you tell Vince?”

Eric feels, suddenly, pretty queasy. “I’d tell him to knock it off.”

“You’re a good manager,” Travis says. “But, lucky for us, you’re not  _my_  manager, so don’t worry about it. OK?”

His mouth is a little dry. “I don’t want to cause problems for you,” Eric says.

“You’re not,” Travis says, and he sounds pretty confident. “The press has known my story for a while.”

Eric’s instinct is to argue, because it’s what he’d do with Vince, but the truth is he’s not Travis’s manager. Travis isn’t Vince, his career isn’t Vince’s career, and Eric needs to get on board with all of that. He says, “OK, I’m not worrying,” and Travis grins.

“Good,” he says. “Since there’s nothing to worry about, you should stay over tonight.”

Eric agrees.

 

* * *

 

They settle into a pattern, after that. Eric goes to all of the pre-production meetings he’s supposed to for Vince: stuff with Ari, with Shauna, with the studio, with the director. When filming starts at the end of the week, he shows up on set whenever Vince is there or whenever he’s supposed to. He plays nice, and so does Vince, and after the meetings are over or when filming wraps, Vince and the guys go out and Eric goes to his office or to Travis’s place. He and Vince don’t really talk, and that doesn’t get any easier, but it doesn’t get any worse, either. Eric figures at this point, things are going to stay the same until after filming, because Vince doesn’t like to get his head messed around while he’s working. He misses the guys — he misses Vince — but he’s usually too busy to dwell on it.

One afternoon, Eric meets Vince and Turtle at wine bar just after lunch, where they’re supposed to be seeing Shauna. She’s running late, though, so it’s just the three of them at a table, crunching on thin breadsticks. Vince is drinking wine; Turtle has a Bloody Mary. Eric sticks to water. “Hey, where were you last night? I was tryin’ to find you,” Turtle says.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“We had tickets for the Mayhem concert,” he says. “I texted you.”

“Yeah, shit, sorry. I got it too late,” Eric says. He actually got the message right on time, but he’d been kicked back on Travis’s couch with Chinese food, watching more NASCAR, and hadn’t wanted to leave.

“Where were you? Big meeting?”

“Travis’s place,” Eric says, and Turtle raises an eyebrow.

Vince says, “How  _is_  Travis?” His voice is high, fake sweet.

“He’s good,” Eric says, but then he can’t resist asking, “How’s Anita?”

Vince shrugs, and Eric looks at Turtle. He’s looking away. “Shit,” Eric says. “You broke up with her already?”

“I didn’t break up with her,” Vince says.

“Right. You probably just stopped calling, right? Jesus Christ, Vince, grow the fuck up, would you?”

“Hey, I didn’t —”

“Boys,” Shauna interrupts them, “if we have to take this to the parking lot, someone’s gonna get hit by my car. Sit down and shut up, can you, just for a little bit?”

“I can if he can,” Vince mutters, and Eric carefully doesn’t look over.

Shauna wants to talk about an upcoming premiere. It’s an easy sell for Vince — he just has to go and be charming, take a date, get some pictures taken, talk about the movie a little. But it’s the same night as his birthday, and Shauna has an idea: a premiere after-party that also celebrates Vince.

“Aw, hell yeah,” Turtle says, rubbing his hands together.

Vince shrugs. “Why would I do it the same night?”

“We’ll get twice the press,” she says, “and, Eric, this should make you happy, Damien MacEnroe’s going to be at the premiere. Should be a cinch to get him at the party.”

Eric does like that idea. MacEnroe’s a British playwright who’s currently shopping a script Eric’s been eyeing. Vince would be perfect in the American lead, but MacEnroe is notoriously picky about who handles his scripts. He turned down Ron Howard’s plea to direct his last piece. Eric’s been wanting Ari to get him in a room for months.

“Seriously, I got this,” Turtle says.

Eric looks between Vince and Shauna. “You want to do this? It’s short notice.”

“Could be fun,” Vince says, and that seals it.

Against his better judgment, Eric turns the planning over to Turtle (with close supervision and assistance from Shauna), and focuses instead on reading up on MacEnroe and getting Ari on board. He spends a little more time with the guys as things come together, too; they meet at a hotel downtown for lunch one day before going around to check out potential venues for the party. With Turtle and Drama around, it’s easy to fall back into their old patterns, joking with each other, laughing about old shit. They stay away from current events — Travis, Anita, even Lucas — by some silent agreement, and though it pains Eric that he can’t talk about his life with his friends, he’s happy just to hang out with them all again.

He tells Travis about the scouting trip over dinner, and Travis says, “Hey, actually, I was gonna ask you — Lisa says we should bite the bullet at this movie.”

“Which bullet?” Eric asks. He tries to stay out of Travis’s career stuff, but he can’t help knowing some of it. Travis is still debating whether to sign on for the Nascar project or not, negotiating over top billing. “You gonna take the movie?”

“What? Oh, I don’t know. Probably, Lisa and Jeremy are working on that. No, I meant — you wanna walk the carpet with me?”

Eric swallows his salad, then reaches for his water. “What?”

“Do you want to be my date, to the premiere?” His smile is a little lopsided, a sure sign of nerves. “Lisa says it’s time to stop dodging the questions and just, uh, come out with it, so to speak.” 

“And what do you think?”

Travis shrugs. “I’m fine with it.”

The advantage to being a manager himself is that he understands exactly what’s happening here. Lisa would never recommend this step unless she and Travis’s PR person weren’t already getting bombarded with questions about their relationship. She would also never suggest it — and neither would Travis — if they had any reason to suspect things weren’t going well. Once they do this, it can’t be undone. Their relationship will become part of Travis’s story, and if they break up, it will be news. 

Eric takes a deep breath and sits back. “I don’t know what to say.”

He reaches out, catches Eric’s hand where it’s resting on his glass. “Look, I know it’s a lot, and it’s sudden, all of that, but — just think about it. Say you’ll think about it.”

He looks into Travis’s eyes, which are still that perfect blazing green, and he nods. “OK,” he says, and Travis’s grin suddenly matches the heat of his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Travis says. He kisses Eric’s hand before he releases it.

That night, Eric stays over at Travis’s place, and when he’s resting in Travis’s arms while Travis sleeps behind him, he lets himself really think about what this could mean. He  _is_  happy with Travis. They get along well, better than Eric’s ever gotten along with any of his serious girlfriends. They spend nearly every night together, sometimes just sleeping, and Eric doesn’t quite feel like his day is complete until he’s talked it over with Travis. They’ve been spotted around town having dinner, sometimes being a little affectionate, all of that — it’s no big secret, like Shauna said. Coming out officially is a risk, and even more than that, it’s a commitment. But people take risks all the time to stick with people they love. And, well, Eric’s about ready to admit that this is what’s going on.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, he leaves Travis with a kiss and a promise that he’ll spend the day thinking, then drives over to meet the guys for coffee.

“Vince is gonna be late,” Turtle says. “He was at Anita’s place all night.”

“Yeah? How’s that going?” Eric asks.

“On-again, off-again,” Turtle says. “He’s been moody ever since you and Travis started up.”

“He’s been moody all year,” Eric says. “It’s not just Travis.”

“Right,” Turtle says, and Eric thinks they’re going to drop it, that Turtle will follow Vince’s usual lead and not even ask, but then he says, “How’s Travis doing, anyway?”

“Good,” Eric says. “Ask him yourself, he’s coming to the premiere on Friday.”

“Who’s coming to the premiere? Sorry, I’m late,” Vince says, sliding in next to Turtle. “Did you hear back from MacEnroe about the party?”

“Not yet,” Eric says, and then decides to just dive right in. “Travis is coming to the premiere.”

Vince blinks, and Eric catches a second of alarm, but he manages to get a good, blank face up pretty quickly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eric says, and he’s careful to meet Vince’s eyes. “Actually, he asked me to walk the carpet with him.”

“With him. As his date.”

Eric nods. “If you don’t — I mean, you don’t need me, right? We’re gonna talk to MacEnroe after.”

“Sure,” Vince says, “I don’t need you.”

There’s something so final about that sentence that Eric knows the alarm shows on his face. But there’s nothing he can say. That’s the sentence he’s been dreading since Anita made her first appearance, but right now — it’s almost a hollow ending. He knows this all by now. He just looks down at his coffee, says, “OK, then,” and is glad when Drama drops into the booth, taking the weight of making conversation off his shoulders completely.

After coffee, and a lot of nodding as Turtle talks about plans, Eric goes to his car and calls Travis. “You wanna do some shopping with me this afternoon?” he asks. “I need to get a good suit for this premiere.”


	3. Chapter 3

Friday night, Eric rides with Travis to the theater, and when they step out onto the plum-colored carpet, there’s a flood of flashbulbs — which only crescendos when Travis reaches back and takes Eric’s hand, a move they discussed in the car.

“Travis! Travis! Is he your boyfriend?”

Travis looks over, with a sly grin. “This guy? I’ve never seen him before,” he says, “but you know, he’s sure hot enough for the job,” and Eric laughs. They unlink about halfway up the carpet, but Travis keeps him close, a hand on his waist or shoulder, as they stop for interviews. It’s not Travis’s movie, but Eric looks around and knows he’s going to dominate the coverage, and he gets a small glimpse of what this is going to mean going forward: more interviews, more photos. He puts his arm around Travis’s waist, and they head inside with a wave.

Travis squeezes his shoulders. “Not so bad, right?”

“Uh-huh. You’re insane.”

“And really adorable.”

“Something like that.”

They linger in the lobby for a while, mingling as people come in, and this part isn’t so hard. Eric knows almost all of these people, and if they narrow their eyes a little trying to remember who he’s attached to usually, well, that’s not so bad. 

Vince and the guys show up about twenty minutes after Eric and Travis, and to Eric’s surprise, Vince has Anita with him. They take their seats pretty quickly, without even stopping by to say hello, and after a minute, Travis and Eric head toward theirs. On the way, Eric glances over, and he’s surprised to see Vince staring back — though it takes him a second to realize he’s looking at Travis, not Eric, and he doesn’t know what to make of that.

The movie is fine — not stellar, but not garbage — and even before it’s over people are buzzing about Vince’s party. The guys are already gone by the time Eric and Travis get up, and Eric’s a little disappointed, because it’s weird that they never said hello or anything. But there are people to shake hands with just on the walk to the car, and camera flashes, and Eric figures he wouldn’t have had time at all anyway.

“You still wanna go, right?” he says to Travis after they’re back in his car.

“Yes, because, strangely, I’d like to keep you in that suit as long as possible,” Travis says, smoothing his lapel. “You’re ridiculously hot tonight, by the way.”

Eric grins. “You don’t look too bad, either.” And then, because hey, they’re out, he kisses Travis right there in the car, not really caring if the driver can see or if the windows are dark enough, and the ride goes pretty fast after that.

The party is being held — again — on the Queen Mary. “Turtle’s got a thing for boats,” Eric says, shrugging, as he and Travis make their way up the walk. There are two levels of partying going on, one, the upper deck, a more sedate crowd, milling around multiple bars, while the lower deck is consumed with dancing and flashing lights. Eric heads up, because he suspects that’s where he’ll find MacEnroe, or at least Ari. Travis follows, but sees someone he knows right when they get inside, and they split up.

“There’s my boy,” Ari says, and then holds up both hands. “Uh-oh, do I have to fight Travis every time I say that, now?”

“Shut up, Ari,” Eric says, and he signals the bartender, gets a whiskey. “You seen our guy?”

“Better than that,” Ari says, rubbing his hands together. “Our guy saw you and your guy, and he called right after the movie for a sit-down on Monday. We got a lunch. Boom!”

“What?” Eric shakes his head. “He — does he want Travis in something?”

“You don’t even get it, do you?” Ari slings an arm around his shoulders. “You joined the gay mafia, Eric,” he says, a little too close to Eric’s ear. “They take care of their own. Tonight, you played exactly the card that Mr. MacChoosy wanted to see.”

“You’re serious?”

“Would I touch you if I wasn’t?”

Eric laughs and shoves him off. “Jesus. All right, just don’t start humping my leg, or Travis will fight you.”

“Promises, promises,” Ari says, and he orders them each a shot and another drink.

Eric shakes his head. Across the room, Travis is talking to two beautiful blond girls, but he turns and smiles at Eric, waves, and Eric beams back at him. He can’t wait to tell him this story. He waves him over, and Travis holds up a finger,  _one minute_. 

“So where’s your other boy?” Ari asks, after they’ve taken their shots. “You know, the one who pays for your love?”

“Fuck if I know,” Eric says. “And if I don’t have to worry about MacEnroe, I’m not sure I care where Vince is.”

Like magic, just saying his name makes him appear in the doorway. There’s a general cheer from the crowd — it is his birthday — and then he makes his way, with Anita in tow, toward the bar. Eric turns, wondering whether he can slip away, but Travis is still tied up in his conversation, and Vince has already called his name.

“You guys are drinking pretty heavy for men who have business to do,” Vince says. He has an arm thrown casually around Anita’s waist, which she doesn’t look entirely comfortable with.

“Your boy here scored us a MacEnroe lunch,” Ari says. “We’re past business and on to pleasure.”

Vince grins. “Seriously? E, how’d you do that?”

“Cock-sucking,” Eric says, and Ari snorts into his drink. Vince’s mouth drops open, which is pretty much the biggest reward of the night. Eric taps Ari on the back as he starts coughing. “Turns out not everyone thinks it’s such a terrible habit.”

“MacEnroe’s got a thing for lost gay causes,” Ari manages, his voice still a little strained. “He said he appreciates Eric’s courage and figures it deserves at least a face-to-face on Monday.”

Vince crosses his arms, freeing Anita, who says, “I wanted to tell you, Eric — congratulations. I mean, you two seem really happy.”

“Thanks,” Eric says. Vince says nothing, and when Eric looks at him, he’s staring down, arms still crossed, and Eric can’t figure out if he’s mad or embarrassed or what. Anita squeezes his arm, as if prompting him to say something, too, but Vince stays silent, and for a second, even with all the party music in the background, there’s a terrible, awkward silence between them. Anita drops his arm. Of course, Eric thinks. It’s not like Vince is happy for him, or like he ever has been.

Ari grips his shoulder and says, “So, one o’clock at Les Petit Fours, all right? Everybody shows up happy and we get ourselves a movie. E, do you get a gay discount there? If not, you probably should, I think Lloyd does.”

Eric says, “Sounds fine.”

Vince is still looking down. “Vin, you’re in, man, right?” Ari says.

“Whatever,” he says, and when Ari makes a panicky sucking noise through his teeth, Vince finally looks up. His face is totally blank, almost bored, and so false that Eric wants to punch him. 

Ari looks between them like he’s courting whiplash, but Eric looks past Vince to where Travis is, finally, free of his conversation. He smiles over at him, waves him over. When he looks back, Vince’s perfect blank face hasn’t moved, but he’s whispering something to Anita.

“Hi, everyone,” Travis says, sliding up next to Eric. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Eric says. “We’re about done.”

“Vince, you’re gonna be there, right?” Ari says, his tone low and threatening, and Eric looks at Vince, who’s looking at Travis, and says, “I’ll be there, he’ll be there. Right?”

“Sure,” Vince says. “Except, oh, wait, weren’t we supposed to have lunch Monday, baby?” He looks at Anita. “I don’t want to cancel on you.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she says.

“No, no, it’s not,” Vince says. His voice is too smooth — Eric feels like he’s watching a rehearsal, not live action. “I already promised you. I can’t go back on my word, right?”

Anita doesn’t look impressed — she looks flabbergasted. “Vince,” she says, “it’s your career. We can — we can have dinner instead, or something, OK? Just, you can’t blow off MacEnroe.”

“You’re sure?” She nods, almost a little frantically, and Vince puts his arm around her waist again, makes a show of kissing the side of her head. “All right, then,” he says, “we’re on.”

“Thank fucking God,” Ari says. “At least one of you has some career sense.”

“That’s what I get, dating someone in management,” Vince says, and he looks right at Eric, so that Eric chokes on a sip of whiskey.

“Tell me about it,” Travis says, rubbing Eric’s shoulders with one hand, and Eric coughs. “What’re you drinking?” he asks.

“Jack,” Eric says, offering his glass, and Travis takes it and shoots it.

“Gross,” he says, then laughs. “Another?”

They all have another, everyone drinking very quickly, Eric intensely aware that Vince is holding Anita close in much the same way Travis has an arm around him. He drinks fast, and Travis keeps pace, so that they set their empties down together while Ari’s just winding up a story about fucking on a yacht in Australia.

“I have to hit the head,” Travis says. “E?”

“Uh, OK,” he says. 

Vince says, “So really, Ari, in the water?” and doesn’t look over when they excuse themselves. As they walk away, Eric turns to Travis and says, “Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue, but you really need a bathroom buddy? What are we, girls?”

Travis puts his hands on Eric’s waist, steering him toward one of the restrooms. “Let’s find out,” he says, and closes and locks the door. Eric glances from the doorknob to Travis. “You looked pretty serious,” Travis says, and Eric shrugs.

“I guess,” he says. He turns to face the sink, offering Travis a little privacy if he really has to go. “I just realized, I’m totally fucking pissed at Vince for being such a dick about this whole thing. I mean, he’s supposed to be my best friend, but he’s been acting like an asshole.”

“A total asshole,” Travis agrees from very close to Eric’s ear. His hands are back on Eric’s waist, and in the mirror, Eric can see his hungry eyes. “Stop thinking about him for a second, OK?” Eric nods, brain already going blank. A minute later, Travis’s hand is in his pants, stroking him fast and furious, and Eric has to brace himself against the sink. He can feel Travis’s hard-on against the back of his thigh, and that makes him groan. Travis licks, then bites, his neck; Eric’s knees get a little weak. “Trav,” he says, his voice throaty, deep.

Someone knocks on the door, and Travis laughs against his neck. The blast of air against his wet skin makes Eric shiver. “Faster,” he whispers.

Travis turns him around then, and before Eric can say anything, he drops to his knees and takes Eric in his mouth, and it takes only a minute — it feels like seconds — for Eric to come. He nearly blacks out, his fingers still gripping the counter top, and he lets Travis button him up and pull him close, his breath ragged. “What about you?” Eric murmurs, kissing Travis’s neck.

“Later,” Travis says, cinching Eric’s belt. “God, you have no idea how fuckable you look tonight.” Eric smiles up at him. He feels a little raw, but in a good way, a soft way, like he wants to just lay his head on Travis’s chest for a while. “That’s better,” Travis says, kissing his forehead. “You looked like you were gonna punch somebody, before.”

“I was thinking about it,” Eric admits. Travis rubs his shoulders, gently, and it feels fucking great. “You kinda like me, huh?”

“I really do,” Travis says, and he kisses him thoroughly before ushering him out. They walk out together, close but not touching; there’s a girl a few feet from the door with her attention fully captured by her iPhone, and Eric nearly laughs. He wonders if everyone can see what they were up to, and then wonders if he should care. Travis is right, he’s not his manager, he’s his boyfriend, and he should get to enjoy himself.

“You really want to stay?” Eric asks, putting his hand on Travis’s waist, already thinking of getting him home, alone, maybe without this suit on.

Travis gives him a funny look — surprised, almost wary. “E,” he says, “he’s your best friend.”

“Not so much, anymore,” Eric says, and it hurts a little to realize he means it. This Vince, the one who’s been cutting him out of his life — that’s not the Vince Eric knows, it’s not the friend he loves or the guy he grew up with.

Travis shakes his head. “Still, we should stay,” he says. “It’s a good party.” He grins. “And I kind of want to dance.”

Eric rolls his eyes, but he laughs. “Go ahead. There, you’re on your own.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Get a new drink,” he says.

“Get one for me, meet me downstairs,” he says, and Eric nods, squeezes his shoulder, and watches him walk away. It just feels right, he thinks. This is the way it’s been in every good relationship he’s ever had — time together seems effortless, time apart seems sort of dreary.

I’m totally in love, he realizes, and then feels a real pang of regret, because there’s no one he can tell. Since he was fourteen, he’s gone to Vince whenever he’s fallen for some girl, just to talk out a little of the crazy. The other guys always made fun of him for it, but Vince used to sit on Eric’s bed, sometimes for hours, talking through the intimate details of relationships with him — from the “what do you think that meant?” stuff to the “do you think I should tell her?” stuff to the mundane, stupid shit like buying presents or meeting-the-parents nerves. This time, he’s got nobody to do that for him, nobody who’s gonna be happy for him like Vince always has been, no one who will tease him out of his funk if things get difficult. 

He turns toward the nearest bar, but it’s completely packed, so he heads across the ballroom, looking for one with a few less wannabe starlets clustered around. There, sitting on a stool and nursing a bright pink drink, he sees Anita, and his shoulders get tense for a second. But he doesn’t see Vince around anywhere — in fact, from the cheering he’s hearing from downstairs, he’s pretty sure he knows where Vince is — so he walks up to the bar, anyway, and orders his drinks, then stands next to her.

“E. Hi,” she says.

“Hey, what’s up?” Eric asks. Her makeup in a little smeared when she looks up. “Are you OK?” She shrugs. Eric glances around. “Seriously, Anita, what’s going on? Did somebody bother you?”

“No,” she says. “Nothing like that. It’s just, you know. Vince.”

“Oh,” Eric says. The bartender slides over his drinks, and Eric takes a minute to fish out a tip, because he needs a second to think. He can already guess what this conversation is going to be about: Anita’s got a really pretty dress on, probably very expensive, and her hair is expertly styled. She’s gone to some trouble to look good tonight, and she’s sitting at the bar, alone, at her date’s birthday party.

Eric pushes money across the bar and asks the guy to add a double shot to his order. He could just take the drinks and go downstairs, find Travis or at least a table within view of him, continue having his very good evening. But for the last twenty years of his life, he’s been having conversations with Vince’s girls that go exactly like this, and even if right now he doesn’t feel like he owes it to Vince to be nice to this girl, well — it’s kind of in his blood. “What happened?” he asks. “You wanna talk about it?”

She shrugs again. “He disappeared, about when you guys —” and she makes a gesture toward the bathroom, and Eric feels himself blush a little.

“Disappeared?” If Vince left his own goddamned birthday party, Eric’s gonna kill him.

“I thought he just went out to get some air,” she says. “But when I went out looking for him…”

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Eric knows where it goes. He takes the shot. Best case, he was flirting with some other girl. Worst case, he was fucking some girl. No, he corrects, worst case, he was fucking three other girls, or, god forbid, some guy, and it’s only that nightmare that makes him ask, “What’d you find?”

She looks over at him, just briefly, her eyes full of tears. “It sounds stupid. But he and this waitress — I mean, what was she even doing out there?” She takes a sip of her drink. “He told me I was overreacting. I — told him he was, too.” The last sentence is said so quietly Eric almost misses it, though he doesn’t miss the way her eyes cut over to him, and he gets it, that Anita knows they’re fighting, and that she’s probably smart enough to guess at some of the reasons.

“Listen,” Eric says, leaning against the bar so he’s facing her. “I’ve known Vince a long time.”

“Are you going to tell me I’m overreacting, too?”

“No,” he says, though that is his usual speech. “I was going to say, I’ve known Vince a long time, and he’s not the easiest guy to have a relationship with. In fact, he’s — he’s almost not built for it.”

“I know,” she says. “But he said — he wanted to try, he said — everything was going so well.”

“Yeah. And — look. It’s not you, that’s what I’m trying to say. You’re — he’s been more serious about you than I’ve ever seen him be with a girl.” Except Mandy, fine, but he’s trying to make her feel better, not worse. “Look, trust me when I say, if it’s gonna work with anyone, it would be you. OK?”

Her eyes are still tear-filled, but she reaches over and hugs him, and Eric loosely hugs her back. His stomach feels unsteady, because he knows what he’s just said is true: it won’t work between Vince and Anita, just like it never would have worked with Vince and Eric.

“Thank you,” she says. She kisses his cheek and draws back, then stands up. Eric steadies her, but she doesn’t seem drunk. “I’m gonna go find him.”

“You sure? I can call you a car, if you want,” Eric says, but she shakes her head.

“Thanks, Eric, really.”

“Well, at least let me walk downstairs with you.” So they go together, Eric with his drinks, Anita dabbing at her eyes. In the downstairs ballroom, a pounding hiphop song is just finishing and the DJ is blabbering. Eric wonders where Turtle found this guy — he sounds like someone from a high school prom. Vince is standing in a ring of female admirers off to the right, his hair a little sweaty, and Eric looks over to make sure Anita is OK. She seems fine, though, even straightens her shoulders a bit before she starts through the crowd, walking right toward him. “Good luck,” Eric says. He shoots his drink and sets the glass down, then carries Travis’s to where he’s standing, at the edge of the dance floor, talking to someone Eric vaguely remembers as being attached to his last project. She peels off as soon as Eric steps up.

“There you are,” Travis says, taking his drink.

“Yeah,” Eric says. The music kicks up, a weird, slow, syrupy number, trance music. A girl starts throwing her arms around above her head near the stage, weaving around like a candle flame. 

“You’re looking all serious again.”

“I am, honestly, having the weirdest fucking night,” Eric says. He slides his arm around Travis’s waist, and suddenly has that feeling again, like he wants to just curl up against him, burrow in. He’s buzzed from the liquor and unsteady from, well, everything. They’re jostled by a couple on the dance floor, a guy and girl dancing close, slow, and Eric surprises himself when he says, “Do you, uh, you wanna dance?”

Travis sets his drink down, then puts his arms around Eric’s shoulders. “Yeah.”

Eric really doesn’t dance. He’s never liked it, because it’s always been an awkward affair — dancing is designed for guys like Vince, who are tall and lithe and like to be looked at all time. Eric’s always been too short to dance comfortably with girls — particularly at parties, when they’re wearing heels — and he’s never enjoyed being out on the floor, where he feels like everyone’s eyes are following him. But Travis pulls him to an open spot about a third of the way in, and he keeps his arms around Eric’s shoulders and Eric instinctively keeps his at Travis’s waist, beneath his jacket, and instead of being worried about who’s watching or keeping up with the music or the crowd, Eric just closes his eyes and lets Travis lead, lets himself be held close enough that he can hear Travis’s heart — or maybe it’s the bass, but he wants it to be Travis’s heart — and he just lets everything go, and they dance.

When the song ends in a flurry of techno noise, Eric pulls back a little and angles up to kiss Travis, who cups his face. “So let’s go home,” he says, and Eric says, “Thank you.” Travis leads him off the dance floor by the hand, and Eric’s so busy just dodging around stumbling drunk models that he almost runs right into Vince. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, Anita’s hand firmly in his own, and Eric realizes they must have been dancing, too, and something in his stomach lurches. He stops, so Travis does, too.

“Are you leaving?” Anita asks. Her face and eyes are bright, again, and Eric is embarrassed by the eager hope he sees there.

“Yeah,” he says. Travis puts his arm over Eric’s shoulders, and Eric puts his around Travis’s waist. 

“Vince, happy birthday, man,” Travis says.

Vince barely nods; there’s something mean and bitter in his look, and so it’s Anita who says “Thanks.”

Eric laughs. “See you Monday,” he says, and then they leave.

When they get back to Travis’s place, Eric’s afraid Travis will want him to talk, or explain, or — whatever. But instead, he just leads Eric back to the bedroom and doesn’t say anything, just pulls him into his arms, holds him close for a while, just like they’re dancing again except it’s quiet and he knows what he’s hearing is Travis’s heart. They undress each other slowly, and Eric lays back and Travis stays with him, in almost the same close embrace, and everything moves slowly like they’re underwater or maybe under some kind of spell; with hardly any effort, Travis is inside of him and they’re hardly moving because they’re so close together. Eric holds him by the shoulders, wraps himself around Travis, puts his mouth against Travis’s neck as he moves them both, and even though it’s all so slow and easy, it’s also a lot, it’s too much, and he blacks out when he comes. 

When he wakes up, Travis has slid to the side, and Eric reaches for him, draws him back, close, kisses him long and slow and gratefully. “I love you,” he whispers, when Travis’s eyes are closed but his breathing is still uneven, and Travis kisses his neck and settles in against his chest.

 

* * *

 

His phone starts ringing way too early the next day. “Either answer it or shoot it,” Travis mutters beside him, and Eric reaches out and answers, blind.

“Hey.”

Eric forces his eyes open. It’s nearly noon, but he’s still thinking Vince shouldn’t be up yet. His head says  _he_  shouldn’t be awake at all. “Uh huh,” he manages.

“We need to talk.”

Eric sighs and rubs his mouth. He pushes himself up on one elbow. “What?”

“Come on,” Vince says.

“Yeah, all right,” Eric says. Behind him, Travis has snuggled closer, his arm snaking around Eric’s bare waist. “What, uh, what do you want to talk about?”

“In person,” Vince says. “And you know what.”

Eric’s not sure he does. “Fine, OK, look, can I call you later and we’ll —”

“No, can we just settle this now? Meet me at Angelo’s in half an hour.”

“I can’t,” Eric says.

“What, are you in a meeting or something?”

“No, Vince, I’m in bed,” Eric says. Travis’s hand rubs over his chest, stopping just short of his nipple. “You woke me up.”

“Oh. So make it an hour.”

“I kinda had plans,” Eric says. He can feel Travis’s erection against his thigh.

Vince laughs, harsh, short, bitter. “You’re gonna bail on me so you can get laid, huh?”

“Like you’ve never done that to me.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No, Vince,” Eric says, sitting up because Travis’s hands are getting really distracting, “this is about you waking me up and demanding I run right out when you call, today, of all fucking days.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s — after last night, you can ask me what —” Travis squeezes his shoulders and breathes the word “Easy” against his neck, and Eric takes a deep breath. “Listen,” he says, trying to be calmer, “you know what, unless you need to talk business, I’m not on call for you today.”

“What if it is business?”

Eric snorts. “What business do you want to talk about on a Saturday afternoon?”

“I want to talk about if you don’t come to lunch today, I’m not coming to lunch on Monday.”

“Jesus Christ. Grow the fuck up, Vin.”

“You want me to come over there, then? Turtle knows where he lives, I bet.”

Eric groans. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll come over.”

“Let’s meet at —”

“No,” Eric says, as Travis draws back. “I’m coming to your place, because I got nothing to say that the world needs to hear.”

There’s a pause, then Vince, his voice much smaller, says, “An hour?”

“Yeah.” Eric hangs up and drops his phone on the floor, then his head into his hands. After a minute, he feels Travis’s hands — gentle, tentative — on his shoulders.

“I think you should talk to me about what’s going on with Vince now,” Travis says, his mouth again against Eric’s shoulder blade.

So Eric tells him everything he told Shauna, but also more: about the weirdness with Lucas, and about Vince and the other guys, and about their fight in Vince’s kitchen and then about how fucking much it hurts that his best friend, “this guy I’ve known my whole life, who’s like my brother — he, he just, he keeps looking at me like there’s something wrong with me.” His voice breaks a little, and that hurts, too.

“Christ,” Travis says, and his arms tighten around him. Eric closes his eyes and holds on to him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, or with us,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But — “

“No buts.” His voice is clear and firm and somehow very tender. “What did he want?”

“He wants to talk,” Eric says.

“That could be a good sign.”

“Not with Vince.” Eric knows him too well. Vince’s idea of talking is usually just a full-court-press attack, using all of his many charms and favorite manipulations, to persuade someone to come over to his point of view. Eric can’t even imagine what that’s going to be in this case. “I should go, though. He said he wouldn’t go to the meeting Monday if I don’t.”

Travis scoffs. “Wow. He really is an asshole.”

Eric glances back. Even after all this time, there’s a tiny part of him that automatically leaps to Vince’s defense, because the Vince he knows isn’t really an asshole. “I’m serious,” Travis says. “I know he’s your friend, but he’s being a dick. You’re right to be angry. No one — no one should get to make you feel this way, particularly your friend.”

Eric sighs. “I just don’t know what his deal is,” he says.

“I don’t care what his deal is,” Travis says. “He’s hurting you.”

It’s the first time Eric’s heard that acknowledged out loud — it’s something he’s hardly even admitted to himself. But he’s knows it’s true as soon as Travis says it, can feel in an almost physical way the pain that Vince has caused him, is causing him. He never thought Vince would be like this. 

“I should go,” he says, not sure if he can stay in Travis’s arms for another minute without breaking down completely. “If I don’t go now, I won’t go at all.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Travis says, but he lets Eric up.

He showers and gets dressed, takes a couple of aspirin to combat his headache, and then comes out and finds Travis has made him coffee. “OK, seriously, at some point you’ve got to develop some flaws,” Eric says. “Because I’m getting a complex.”

“Have I told you I don’t have sex when I’m filming?” Travis asks, and Eric blinks. “Kidding, kidding.” He reaches over and kisses Eric, a very long kiss. Eric doesn’t miss the concern on his face. “Call me when you’re done, OK? I want to hear how it goes.”

“Yeah. That makes one of us,” Eric says, and walks out.

 

* * *

 

 

The hangover gets worse as he drives — the sun is too bright and his stomach is iffy. Eric resolves to go straight back to Travis’s bed when this is all over. The closer he gets to Vince’s house, the more likely he thinks it is that he’s going to have to pull over to throw up.

He makes it in one piece, though, and sits for a moment in the driveway to calm himself. The door’s unlocked, so he lets himself in, walks through the empty, quiet house, following the sound of the ocean through the open door to the deck.

Vince is waiting. “Managed to tear yourself away?”

Eric sighs. He takes a seat on a lounge chair but doesn’t kick back, stays turned sideways so he’s facing Vince. It’s too bright even with his sunglasses on. He’s sweating. “I’m here,” he says. “You wanted to talk, and that’s your opening line?”

Vince shrugs.

“What the fuck, Vince?”

“What the fuck what, E?” Eric keeps glaring at him. “What did you mean, ‘after last night’?”

“I meant, you were a total douchebag last night.”

“ _I_  was a total douche?”

“Yeah! You ignored us at the theater. You wouldn’t even look at me when Anita said congrats. You ignored Travis when he said happy birthday.”

“Oh, come on, I did not,” Vince says.

“Yeah, you really did,” Eric says, “and don’t fucking act like it wasn’t on purpose, because he may not know you that well, but I do, asshole. Or I did.”

“It was a party, it was loud, I —”

“And then, icing on the fucking cake, not only did you act like a prick to me — which is par for the fucking course lately — but I had to clean up the mess when you made your fucking girlfriend cry.”

Vince’s head snaps up. “What are you talking about?”

“Anita, hello? Your girlfriend, she was upset after she caught you doing whatever the hell with that waitress.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Well, she sure thinks she is.”

“I mean,” Vince says, “she’s not my girlfriend  _anymore_.” Eric holds his breath, hoping Anita will have done the right thing. Instead, Vince says, “I broke up with her last night.”

“Christ.”

“What? What? First you’re telling me it’s stupid for me to date that girl because she’s so much like you, now you’re mad I broke up with her? What the fuck, Eric? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop acting like an asshole,” Eric says. “You know what, you want to be Casanova your whole life, fine, Vin, fine, but don’t tell those girls that you want more. Don’t lie. You’re not capable of an adult relationship, you know that?”

“Yeah, coming from you, that’s rich.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean it’s real grown up to sneak off in the middle of a party to bang your, your date in the fucking bathroom. Jesus Christ, E, what are you, sixteen again?”

Eric feels his face start to flush. “What are you, my mother? The fuck do you care what I do?”

Vince spreads out his hands, all innocent good intentions. ”I’m your best friend.”

“Like hell you are,” Eric says, and he stands up. “Like fucking hell you are. My best friend? My best friend would’ve been there on the red carpet with me last night when I was so nervous I wanted to throw up, or would’ve at least wished me good luck before what was honestly about the biggest night of my life yet. My best friend would’ve been there for me at some point — at any point — in the last year when I needed to talk about all the shit I went through with Lucas, and with telling my mom, and all of that. And you know what? My best friend, the guy I grew up with, if I told him I’d met somebody special, he would’ve fucking been happy for me, you know that? If I told him I was in love, he would’ve been happy about it, not, not, whatever you are.”

“E —”

“Shut up,” Eric says. “Just fucking — I don’t even think there’s anything you can say. I don’t — you’ve been treating me like I’ve got some kind of disease, ever since Lucas, and I can’t —” He swallows and feels dangerously close to the same raw place he was in this morning with Travis, only here there’s no one to tell him it’s OK, he’s OK, and Vince is looking up at him with horror etched across his face. His stomach is in knots. Eric just says, “Whatever, whatever, I can’t do this with you now,” and turns and walks away. He makes it to the kitchen, where he yanks on the tap and starts drinking water from his hands. His stomach aches, his mouth is dry, he feels sick about yelling at Vince but also about the truth of it all, that twenty some years of friendship is maybe over forever. He ducks his head under the tap because he’s sweating; his heart is pounding, the room feels a little unsteady.

“E.”

He gropes for the faucet handle and turns it off, but stays put, dripping over the sink. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he says.

“Me, neither,” Vince says, and then his hands are on Eric’s shoulders, turning him around, and Eric is too stunned and lightheaded to even think. Vince grabs him by the shoulders, then puts his hands on Eric’s face, his fingers cold and too harsh, and he kisses Eric full on the mouth, a hard, long, completely unsexy kiss.

“What the hell?” Eric whispers when Vince pulls back.

“It’s what you want,” Vince says. He’s still close — way too fucking close — and Eric wants to wipe his face but he can’t raise his arm without touching Vince. “Right?” Vince brushes the water from his cheeks, and Eric actually jerks away from him.

He grabs the counter to steady himself. His lips taste like a cherry lifesaver, and he fights the urge to touch them. Vince just kissed him. “What?”

“Turtle told me,” Vince says. His voice is soft, but kind of throaty, a voice Eric’s really never heard him use before. “He told me about your plan.” He takes a step closer, again, standing so close Eric tilts his head back just to look him in the eye.

“My —  _his_  plan,” Eric says. He tries to back up, but he’s trapped between the counter and Vince. “I didn’t —”

“It’s OK,” Vince says. “I’ve thought about it, too.”

“Vince,” Eric says, feeling desperate, shaky, like nothing good can come from whatever’s happening.

“It’s not what you think,” Vince says. “It’s not — the gay thing. It’s not. It’s that — why him, and not me?” He lowers his eyes just a little. “You love me.”

“Vince.”

“You do,” he says. “I know you do.”

“Yeah,” Eric says, his own voice now quiet and a little heavy, too. “But — Vin. Not like this. Not —”

“That’s not true,” Vince says, and the hand on his shoulder slides to his neck. This time, Eric’s a little better prepared for the kiss, a little less shell shocked, and he pulls back and closes his mouth, turns his face away. “Let me,” Vince whispers against his temple. “E. Let me kiss you.”

Eric actually shivers as Vince’s breath passes over his wet hair. “Please don’t,” he says.

“I love you,” Vince says. His hand is on Eric’s back, now, warm and steady.

“Vince,” Eric says, ashamed of the quiver in his voice, and Vince must take it as permission, because he turns his face and kisses him again. Eric grabs his forearms, but he’s just holding on, not pushing away, as Vince takes his time, really kisses him, tongue, gentle nipping teeth, the works. When he pulls back this time, Eric’s chest is heaving; he thinks he may actually pass out, and he clenches his eyes and turns around, holding on to the counter for dear life.

“E?”

He can’t say anything. Not yet. He’s trembling. It’s not a good feeling. None of this feels good, even if maybe a while ago this scene was something out of a fantasy for him. 

“Eric.” Vince’s hand lands in the middle of his back again.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Eric whispers.

“I know,” Vince says. “I know, I’m a little slow, but I —”

“I’m in love with Travis,” he chokes out.

“You’re always in love with somebody,” Vince says. “But what we’ve got — all these years, man.”

“No,” Eric says. He turns around. His face must be bright red; his heart is still thundering in his ears. “I love him, Vince, I’m in love with him. Not — not with you.” Vince’s face doesn’t even change; he looks skeptical, dismissive. “Vince. It was Turtle’s plan. The guys — they were the ones — I’m not in love with you.” He makes sure to meet Vince’s eyes, waits until he sees them get momentarily a little wider. “I’m sorry,” he says, and then doesn’t know why he's the one apologizing, when his mouth still tastes like Vince’s favorite cherry gum. 

“Sure,” Vince says, taking a few steps back. Eric can breathe again. “I get it. You’ve got that thing, no cheating — that’s fine.”

“You’re not listening,” Eric says. “I’m not fucking around, Vin.”

“Neither am I,” Vince says.

“You’re straight, remember? You told me that pretty clearly before.”

“So now I’m saying maybe that’s not so true,” Vince says. “Maybe it’s just — maybe I just need the right guy. You,” Vince says. “I think maybe we should make a go of it. Together.”

Eric frowns. Vince’s voice is too bright, his speech too sure. “Together. You wanna be my boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Say it.”

Vince’s mouth quirks up. “You get off on that, huh? Fine. E, I wanna be your boyfriend.”

“And have sex with me.”

“That’s part of the deal, right?” Vince is blushing, just faintly, and Eric shakes his head. “That’s not part of the deal?” Eric looks down at his hands. They aren’t shaking anymore, at least; his head is clearer, his disappointment sharper. “C’mon,” Vince says. “It’ll be — it’ll be good again, E, just like before, only — only more. Better.”

“Vin,” he says, quiet, serious. “There are easier ways to stay my friend.”

He laughs, too fake, too surprised. “What are you —”

“You don’t want this,” Eric says. “You’re not even capable of it.”

“Fuck you, how would you —”

“I have someone, Vince. I have a guy who I’m in love with, who wants to be with me for the long term, who isn’t doing it just to settle a fight. You’re — you’re trying — you think you can just buy me back, by saying you want me? It doesn’t work like this. We can’t — “ Eric shakes his head.

“I don’t know what else you want from me,” Vince says.

“I don’t want anything,” Eric says. Vince is looking at him like he’s crazy, and Eric feels like he’s finally making sense. “Vince, if you really wanted this, then this crap from the last year — it would’ve never happened. You don’t even know what you want.”

“You know everything, huh? That’s fine. I can wait.”

“I’m gonna go.” Eric says. “I’m gonna try and pretend like this didn’t happen.”

“You mean you’re not gonna tell Travis,” Vince says, sounding a little triumphant.

Eric pauses at the door. “I tell him everything,” he says, and he looks away from Vince’s stricken face quickly, then heads to the car.


	4. Chapter 4

The nausea comes back with a vengeance. He’s halfway to Travis’s house before he realizes he didn’t call, he doesn’t even know if Travis is home, so he gets out his phone. “What happened?”

“Long story,” Eric says. “Are you at home?”

“I’m — actually, you want to meet me? You still have time to shop today?”

Eric swallows. Shit, he forgot. “Sure,” he says. “Where are you?”

Travis gives him an address, and Eric punches it into his nav system and then hangs up. He doesn’t really want to go shopping, but maybe it will be a good buffer. He can just follow Travis around, let him carry the conversation, just find a way to be with him for a while without having to talk about this crap with Vince, yet. And maybe they can get Eric some Tums or a 7-Up or something on the way.

The address Travis has given him is a house in a gated neighborhood. The guard lets him through when he shows his license, says he’s expected, and Eric can’t remember what Travis said he was doing over here. The house is mid-sized for Hollywood, a little smaller than Vince’s but nice, two stories, lots of windows, kind of modern. Eric knocks on the front door and a woman in a sleek black business suit answers. “You must be Travis’s partner,” she says, shaking his hand.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Eric.”

“Nice to meet you.” The place smells like cinnamon and cookies. Eric’s stomach lurches. “Travis is at the pool with Terri. Shall we join them?”

“Actually, is there a bathroom I could —?” 

The woman points him down a hallway, saying something about it being the best feature of the house, and so Eric hurries — he pretty much jogs — through a massive master suite and into the attached bathroom. His stomach is doing flips, but he’s not quite at the point of needing to throw up, not yet, he just feels really fucking bad. He sits on the edge of the massive jacuzzi and crosses his arms over his chest. There are candles burning on the marble countertop; the room smells like cranberries. His mouth still tastes, very faintly, like cherries. That nearly pushes him over the edge.

He doesn’t know exactly how long he sits there, trying to just hold still, waiting to feel better, before he hears footsteps on the stone floor. “E?”

He looks up and over at Travis, who’s lurking in the doorway. “Hey.”

He walks in and leans against the counter, right across from him. “You all right? Laura said you looked kind of sick.”

“Just still hungover,” Eric says.

“Jesus.” Travis sits next to him, and he starts to rub Eric’s back, gently. “I’m sorry. You want to go home? Want some water or something?”

“In a bit,” Eric says. “I just want to sit for a minute.”

“Sure.” Eric turns just a little so he can rest his head against Travis’s shoulder. “Why’s your hair all wet?”

Eric sighs. “Things didn’t go so well with Vince.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

“He came on to me,” Eric says, and Travis’s hand pauses. “He kissed me, actually.” He can hear Travis swallow. 

“I guess I’m not surprised.”

“Don’t worry, all right? I told him to go to hell.”

Travis starts rubbing his back again. “What happened?”

“I’m — I’m not sure I can talk about it yet,” Eric says. He looks at Travis to see if that’s OK, and sees it probably isn’t, that he’s got to be a little more clear. So he tries. “I told him I’m in love with you. I bitched him out for not being any kind of friend about this, told him I don’t even think of him as my best friend anymore.” Travis frowns, sympathy in his eyes. “I told him I tell you everything.”

He moves up to rub his neck. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I really do think — he’s an asshole, but E, he loves you, he’s gonna come around.”

“You’re just saying that because  _you_  love me,” Eric starts, and then he looks over at Travis.

“I do,” he says, and there’s no blush or flinch. “I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Eric smiles, and he takes Travis’s hand into both of his own. “Good.”

He hears a distant knock. “Mr. Walters?”

“Just a minute,” Travis calls.

“Where are we?” Eric asks. “I thought you were shopping.”

“I am,” Travis says. Now there’s a little flush on his cheeks. “This, uh, this is what I’m shopping for.”

“A new house?”

He nods. “It’s kind of my lame attempt at asking you to move in with me.”

Eric gapes at him. “Seriously?”

“Bad timing, I know,” Travis says. “But — I’ve been thinking I should get an actual house, and you’re at my place a lot, and I like that, and you seem to, too, and I just thought this was something we could do together.”

Eric looks around the marble bathroom. “I can’t afford this place,” he says.

Travis grins. “That’s what you have a problem with?”

“The rest of it makes sense. This is the next step.”

His grin gets a little wider. “So you wanna look around? This place has a nice pool.”

Eric looks down at his hands. “I don’t know if this is such an auspicious start for a place of our own. But, yeah, I’d love to start looking.” His stomach groans audibly. “Though maybe not today.”

“OK,” Travis says, and he kisses the side of his head.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Eric gives Travis the blow-by-blow of his fight with Vince, up to and including Vince’s invocation of Turtle’s plan. Travis takes it all in stride. “I guess if I had to worry about any of that, you wouldn’t be here today,” he says, and Eric agrees. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” Eric admits. “I’m just hoping he shows up tomorrow.”

Vince does show up to the lunch, and he makes a big show of sitting close to Eric and being all friendly, and Eric’s not sure if MacEnroe catches on that it’s all an act. It doesn’t matter, it turns out, because the guy likes Vince’s look and Eric’s lifestyle, and they get a verbal deal on the movie sewn up over dessert. Ari offers to buy them both “drinks or hookers or whatever, a trip to the fucking moon, seriously,” afterward, but Eric begs off. He’s pretty sure Vince doesn’t want to be around him, and he doesn’t, really, want to be around Vince. Instead he goes to the office and makes a few calls on Josie’s behalf and then pages through some of the real estate ads around Beverly Hills. It’s a nice distraction, though it brings its own problems. There’s no way he’ll be able to afford even half of a place in a neighborhood like Travis deserves, not unless Josie and Vince and fifteen clients he hasn’t found yet make record-breaking movies every month for the next fifteen years.

“Hey, I’m not asking you to pay for it,” Travis says at dinner.

“But I want to help.”

Travis shrugs. “So when your condo sells, you can buy some art you like for the place.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna buy a house and you want me to decorate it?”

“I want you to live in it,” Travis says. “Why is this such a big deal? Vince bought you a car.”

“Not a good direction to go in this conversation,” Eric says, and Travis apologizes and they change the subject. 

They go house hunting again that weekend, on a tour of several houses in Beverly Hills and Malibu that Travis’s broker team — Laura and Terri — are crazy about. The house Eric likes best is a sharp Spanish-styled place with a view of the ocean and a gorgeous second-floor master suite with a comfortable area for reading, working, and television watching. It even has a wet bar. “We would never have to leave this room,” Travis says, and Eric puts his arms around him from behind.

“Sold,” he says against Travis’s shoulder blade, and Travis snickers but then repeats Eric’s words on the driveway.

The house is 6.2 million dollars. They argue over the costs again. Eric’s uncomfortable with the inequity of their contributions. His million-dollar condo isn’t going to sell very quickly, so the money he’s just made from Vince’s film will be going mostly toward keeping up payments on that. But Travis doesn’t seem to get it, and he does really want to hurry up and buy a place. They start the paperwork, but Eric’s reluctant to go in and really meet with the finance people, because — it’s not his money.

He tells Turtle about the house while they’re sitting around waiting for Vince to finish up at a fitting. “Seriously, the guy bought you a house?” Turtle says, and Eric winces.

“It’s not like that. It’s ours.”

“But he’s paying for it.”

Eric shrugs. Travis won’t even hear about him contributing some to the expenses. The thing is, it’s not a Vince-like gesture of grandiosity — Travis can match Eric figure for figure about why he should pay for things. “I pay for stuff, too. Plus I’ve still gotta keep paying on my place until it sells.”

“You’re selling your place?” Turtle raises an eyebrow. “How much?”

“More than you’ve got.”

“Yeah, but Vince was saying he might spring for a place of my own.”

Eric cocks his head. “Uh, what? He’s gonna live alone now?”

“I don’t know. Said he thinks maybe he should try it out. You ask me, that’s something Erica said before they split up.”

“Stop calling her that,” he says tiredly. He wants to ask more about all of this, but Vince is walking out. Eric’s really curious, though; if Vince is seriously considering splitting off from the other guys, well, that’s a major shift. Maybe Anita did have something to do with it, but more likely than that, Eric thinks, it could have something to do with their big fight.

Today, he’s roped into lunch because they’re supposed to meet Shauna. She calls to say she’ll be late, which is fine except Eric still doesn’t much want to be in the same booth, much less the same room, as Vince. Since the thing at his house, all he’s been able to think about is Vince saying,  _I don’t know what else you want from me_ , like everything is Eric’s fault. It buzzes around in his head like a swarm of bees, so that sometimes, just thinking about Vince makes his pulse race. He works hard not to make eye contact at lunch, willing himself to just float in the conversation between Turtle and Drama. It’s easier that way.

“Hey, maybe E should get the bill,” Turtle says, when the waiter brings their check. “He’s going back to living rent-free.”

Eric’s not sure whether he actually groans out loud or not. “Yeah, not for a while,” he says. “The place has to sell first.”

“You’re selling your place?” Drama asks. “I mean, I’m not currently in the market, but real estate is never a bad investment.”

“Jesus, even I know that’s not true,” Turtle says.

“Yeah,” Eric says. “I talked to the broker yesterday.”

“Vin, what do you think? Good place,” Turtle says.

Eric finally looks over at Vince. His expression is one of open-mouthed surprise. “You’re moving in with Travis.”

Eric nods. “We’re house hunting,” he says. Vince’s face changes, just slightly: he looks surprised and sad, now, and for some reason, it just pisses Eric off even more. He shakes his head, pushes his plate back. “One of these times, you’re gonna have to believe me when I say I’m serious about this guy, Vince.”

“He’s buying you a house?”

“We’re buying a house together,” Eric says. “Because that’s what you do, when you’re serious. When you’re committed.”

“Whoa, OK, we get it, bro,” Drama says, and Eric realizes he’s been speaking a little too loudly; a few people are glancing over. Eric flinches and sinks into his seat a bit more, goes back to studying his plate. Motherfucker, he thinks, over and over and over, until it’s just the usual drumbeat of anger in his head when Shauna walks up and he has to function again.

After lunch he says a tight good-bye to the guys and then takes a cab to Travis’s place. It’s deja vu, finding Travis laying on the couch, but this time Eric doesn’t pause or even think. He just slips in behind him, then rests his head on Travis’s chest, and when he closes his eyes he can picture it, the new house, the new life. He says, “Let’s go meet with your finance guy tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eric says. He’s been dragging his feet because of the money issues, but he’s tired of fighting. He just wants something in his life to be settled.

By the next week, they have the house. It was move-in ready, and Travis’s finance guy got everything expedited, so Eric takes the next Friday off work to supervise the moving company. His condo is almost completely cleared of personal objects. Only a little of his furniture is making the move — his broker says it’s best to leave some in place, to stage the rooms, and they won’t need his bed or couch or second-hand dresser at the new place. Eric goes through all of the drawers methodically, making sure nothing is left behind, and finds only an old movie ticket and a really old bag of Cheetos. Even the trash cans are gone.

He sits on his bed and takes a last look around. It’s not an impressive place, but it’s the first place he ever owned on his own, and maybe, if things work with Travis, it will be the last. His doubts about just letting Travis pay for everything have returned, but there’s not much he can do at this point. The house is theirs, and it’s way too expensive for Eric to make a meaningful contribution. Maybe swallowing this pride is the price he has to pay to live with the guy he loves.

There’s a knock on the door, and Eric figures it’s Travis. They’re supposed to go to dinner, and then over to the house to see how the moving process is going. He yells, “Come in!” and then lays back, waiting, staring up at the first ceiling he ever owned.

“Hey.”

Eric sits up so sharply, he’s briefly light-headed. “Vince? What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says. “Turtle told me you were moving today. Since I don’t know your new address, I figured this might be my last chance to find you.” 

“Find me for what?” Eric asks, instantly ready to fight.

“So we can talk.”

“I don’t really want to talk to you, right now,” Eric says. He stands up and walks to the door, hoping Vince will follow, but instead Vince drops onto the bed, in the space Eric’s just vacated. 

Eric’s ready to fight, to yell, to run. But Vince says, as calmly as if they’re just hanging out, as if there’s not horrible tension in the air, “I always liked this place. It reminds me of home.”

Eric shakes his head. “I’ve seen home for you,” he says, “so —”

“I mean, it’s not very Hollywood,” Vince says. “What about your new place? Is it all Hollywood?”

Eric starts to snap back, but Vince quickly holds up his hands, almost defensively. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean that to sound bad. I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Why did you come here?”

“To say I’m sorry,” Vince says. He lowers his hands, then looks down at them. “I had a plan, too. Like Turtle’s.” Eric leans back against the wall, right by the door. He doesn’t know what to say to that. “New Year’s. I called you, remember? I was gonna — I was gonna say, maybe we should — but then I met Anita. And she was, you were right. She was like you, only — not you.”

“A girl,” Eric says, and Vince nods.

“And it seemed like a good solution, only then you started up with Travis.” Vince looks up. His voice is strangely gentle, soft. “It made me crazy.”

“I got that,” Eric says. He wants to edge away, but he’s also frozen, terrified but enthralled.

“You were wrong about something the other day,” Vince says. “I do know what I want.”

“Vince —”

“I want things to go back to how they were,” he says. “I do. E, I want that more than anything. I — it’s just — I get it, OK? Travis is a great guy, and he’s — he can give you stuff I can’t, and — and it’s hard. You’ve been my best friend my whole life, and I don’t — I just don’t deal so well with being replaced.” He smiles as he says it, which is a little heartbreaking.

“Vin, I’m not trying to replace you,” Eric says. “You’re my best friend. Or you were, before you became a total fucking headcase about this.” Vince is still looking at him with that same painful expression. “Just because I have a boyfriend, it doesn’t mean I need a best friend any less. It doesn’t mean I need you any less.”

“Yeah?”

“Look, I get what you’re feeling,” Eric says. “I felt the same way with Anita.”

Vince rubs his face. “You were right about her,” he says. “I was — in a way, I was trying to replace you. I thought, if I could just find a girl just like you, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so… fucked up about you being with a guy.” He looks up, and his expression is sad and resigned. “I think, honestly, E, I think I am kind of in love with you. I think I probably have been forever. But I know. I mean, I know, you're right. It wouldn't work for us. I’m not built like you, I don’t think I could ever settle down enough to be what you deserve in a lover.” 

Eric nods slowly, wanting to show that he's taking this seriously, because he is. He knows, Eric absolutely knows, that he should feel shocked or triumphant or something, but what he feels immediately is just – sorry. Sorry, that Vince has finally realized what Eric has known for so long, that they are meant to be together, but not in the way that would make the most sense, and sorry, that he's managed to find happiness outside of it. He loves Vince more than almost anyone in the world, and certainly, clearly, enough to know the truth of everything he's saying.

“But everything else, all the friendship stuff,” Eric says, as gently as he can, “that doesn’t have to change, Vince. I love you, too, man. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a brother.”

Vince nods. He reaches out, and Eric crosses over so they can bump fists, then Vince grips his hand for a second and lowers his forehead to rest there. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and Eric nods even though he can’t see it. “I just — today, it hit me, you’re moving and I don’t even know where, and I couldn’t — I can’t lose you completely, E. I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You won’t,” Eric says. “Just stop this bullshit, OK?”

“Yeah.” Vince lets him go, and Eric takes a slow step backward. “Where are you moving, anyway?”

Eric tells him about the house, then, and somehow, all of the stuff that he’s been wanting to tell someone forever — about Travis paying for everything and his mixed feelings, about how weird it is to leave his own place — just starts rushing out.

“I get that, I totally do,” Vince says, and he looks over to where Eric’s sitting next to him.

“Christ, I missed having you to talk to,” Eric admits, and Vince smiles, just a little.

“That makes two of us. Hey, at least you’ve had Travis.”

“True,” Eric says. He pauses, then says, seriously, “You know, you’ll like him. He’s a good guy, Vince.”

“I know,” Vince says. “And he’d better be, because my best friend’s in love with him.”

They move to the living room after a few minutes, talking lightly about the upcoming movie and some Drama and Turtle hijinks Eric’s missed in the last month. That’s where they’re at when Travis walks in. He looks between them, then focuses Eric, his gaze steady but slightly wary.

“Everything OK?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Eric says. He’s not sure what else to say, exactly, but luckily Vince steps up.

“I owe you an apology, Travis,” he says. Travis looks at him. “I’m sorry. It’s just — he’s kind of a hard guy to let go of.”

“I get that,” Travis says, and they shake hands. For some reason, that’s what finally makes it feel real, that these two guys he loves more than anybody are finally, really, hopefully going to get along. Eric’s grinning so big he can barely stand it, and he takes Travis’s hand as they leave, barely even thinking about it being the last time he’ll really be in his place. 

“I take it we have some stuff to talk about?” Travis asks, after Vince is on his way home and they’re in Travis’s car.

“We have some stuff to celebrate,” Eric says, and kisses him before they drive toward their new home.

 

* * *

 

 

Things slowly get back to normal. Two weeks later, they throw a house-warming party for a few friends — Travis’s and Eric’s — and Vince brings a bottle of expensive wine and a Wii with every accessory known to man. They all mingle around the pool and in their new spacious living room, and Eric spends most of the evening feeling very grown up and a little freaked out by that.

Around midnight, Travis sits next to him on a lounge chair by the pool. Eric’s been talking to his friend Taylor for about half an hour about sound systems, and he’s glad for the relief of Travis’s presence and even more for his hands as they start to rub his shoulders. When Travis tells Taylor that another friend is looking for him, Eric closes his eyes so the gratitude won’t show so much on his face.

“Thanks,” he says, after Taylor’s moved away and they’re alone.

“Mm-hm,” Travis says. He kisses the back of Eric’s neck. “I think our house is a hit.”

“Yeah,” Eric agrees. “If we’re not careful, Turtle’s gonna move in.”

Travis laughs. “I was talking to the guys earlier,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Vince says I should let you pay some for the house.”

Eric opens his eyes, turns a little to face Travis better. “You’ve been talking to Vince?”

He nods. “He says me paying for everything really bugs you.”

“You knew that,” Eric says.

“Not really,” Travis says. “Or — I knew something was bugging you about the whole thing, but — for a while, E, I really thought you didn’t want to do this.”

“What?”

“You dragged your feet forever on signing the papers. You wouldn’t meet with Barry.” Travis shrugs. “I really thought you might be working up to tell me you’d had second thoughts.”

“Not — not about us,” Eric says. “Just about the money.”

“Yeah,” Travis says, “that’s what Vince said, too.”

“What else did Vince say?”

“That it’s always gonna be hard for you to take money or gifts like this. Like it makes you feel dependent, and you hate that.”

“It kind of does,” he admits. “Look, I — I trust you. I don’t think you’re gonna kick me out. It’s not about that. It’s about — I just kinda learned, a man pays his own way in the world.”

Travis takes his hand. “You probably also learned a man doesn’t fall in love with another man.”

“I’ve managed to throw out a lot of that crap,” Eric says, “but some stuff — it’s just the way I am, the way I see it.”

Travis nods. “OK,” he says. “I can respect that.” He squeezes Eric’s hand. “So, whatever you used to pay on your condo — why don’t you just put that toward the house every month? And when you make more, we can renegotiate, if you want.”

“Yeah?” He nods again. “OK.”

“And you can use whatever’s left over to help keep me in the manner to which I’ve become so accustomed.”

“You mean I should buy a subscription to the NASCAR channel?” Eric asks, and Travis laughs.

The party winds down about an hour later, and Vince and the guys start talking about hitting some club. Eric says no thanks. “I’m pretty much done with that scene, you know? I’m looking forward to getting really, really boring. House payment, committed partner, in bed by midnight.”

“Just not boring once you’re in bed, right?” Vince says, waggling his eyebrows. “How’re you gonna hang on to a movie star without a little spice in your life?”

“Jesus, kill me now,” Turtle says, and Eric and Vince laugh.

“You guys heading out?” Travis asks, joining them at the doorway.

“Yeah, they say the night’s still young,” Eric says.

“So do I,” Travis says, and Vince winks at Eric.

“You kids have fun,” he says. “E, lunch tomorrow?”

“Late lunch,” Eric agrees, and they shake hands all around before waving the guys off from the doorway. Once they’re gone, they walk back in, lock up, and decide unanimously to leave most of the clean up for the service in the morning. They make their way to their new spacious bedroom, and Travis falls right onto the bed. “Finally, the place to ourselves,” he says, grinning up at him, and Eric smiles back. It’s been a good night, and it’s only going to get better.

“Home sweet home,” he agrees, then eases himself down for the first of many good-night kisses.


End file.
